


The Guest

by Perosha



Series: Garbage AU [1]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Humor, KH3 AU, M/M, Post-Kingdom Hearts Dream Drop Distance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-08-30 19:57:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 72,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8547046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perosha/pseuds/Perosha
Summary: [KH3 AU, Comedy/Drama] After being brought up to speed about her son’s many adventures and the impending confrontation with Xehanort, Sora’s mother leaves the Destiny Islands, determined to go lend a helping hand to Sora’s friends. She does not wind up with Sora’s friends.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I normally don’t post stories unless they’re completely finished, but since this is something comedic and off-the-cuff, I’m giving myself permission to just update it here and there without necessarily committing to finishing it. Expect this to be updated at random, if at all; it’s mostly just me making myself laugh.

For the first few weeks after Sora left again, she did nothing, but _doing_ _nothing_ came no more naturally to her than it did to her son. When he finally popped by the islands for an afternoon to advise that yes, he was still alive, she started packing her things before he’d even finished eating lunch. His increasingly alarmed attempt to talk her out of it went nowhere.

“But there’s not anything you could do, Mom,” he was saying, half a coconut macaroon in one hand as he watched her empty her closet onto the bed. He polished it off before continuing, “I mean...I don’t think Master Yen Sid would want you staying at his tower...and I’m traveling a lot, anyway. We still have to track down Xehanort. Master Aqua says he might decide to—”

“I know I can’t follow you around, Sora, but I’d at least like to meet this—what’s his name? Mr. Bid?”

“Yen Sid.” Sora scratched his cheek with one finger, watching her sort through pairs of sandals. “Um, I guess that’d be okay, but...what are you gonna do after that? You can’t exactly fight Xehanort with us.”

“Maybe not, but there has to be _something_ I can do.” She rolled up a shirt and stuffed it into the bottom of the trunk, beneath a layer of shorts. “Sora, please don’t argue with me. I’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

“But where would you go? Radiant Garden?”

“If you don’t have a better ideas, then I don’t see why not. You certainly sound like you check in there a lot more often than you come home.” She crammed another rolled-up sundress into the bottom of the weatherbeaten trunk with a grim expression. “Honestly, I should have just gone with you when you left again. I could have been helping out for a month already.”

“Mom, this isn’t something you can ‘help’ with. It’s not like a...a bake sale. We’re trying to stop Xehanort from destroying the universe.”

She stopped sorting through the clothes on the bed, giving him the rare but powerful _don’t-take-that-tone-with-me-young-man_ look she hadn’t had a chance to use in a long time.

“Sora, sweetie, listen to me. I’ve spent two years all alone in this house—”

“Mom—”

“—worried sick about you and poor Riku, I had no idea what happened to you both after that storm, and for a while we all even forgot about you, I genuinely thought I was losing my mind—”

“Mom, I already told you—”

“—and then all of a sudden you come home one day with a magic sword, and tell me you’ve made all these friends and have to go fight a war against some horrible old man, and you really expect me to just sit here for heaven knows how long and pray that you drop by once in awhile—”

“But that’s why I came here today, because you said you wanted me to—”

“—running around fighting monsters in all these fantastical places and all sorts of other things going on, getting your memory erased and who knows what else, getting kidnapped—”

“That was one time!”

“Well, you can understand why I’m concerned.” She folded shirts with increasingly furious precision, turning the wadded pile on the corner of the bed into a tidy stack as Sora rubbed the side of his head, looking dismayed.

“Mom, I have to do this,” he said. Behind him, a seagull landed on the open windowsill, tilting its head and watching the proceedings. “I know it might not make any sense, but you just have to trust me, okay? I have to go protect everyone.”

“Of course you do, sweetie. You’re just like your father.”

She spared a tired look at one of the framed photos on the nightstand, then sighed and added another neatly-stacked pile of clothes to the trunk, sitting back on her heels and untying her short ponytail, which had come loose and scattered her bangs across her face.

“Sora, listen to me,” she said, as she redid her ponytail. “I’m not going to stop you from doing whatever you have to do. But I absolutely cannot keep sitting around the house wondering what’s happening to you out there. If there’s somewhere I can be that’s closer to you—or at least, somewhere I can lend a hand to you and your friends—then I’m going, and I’m going to help. I would feel a lot better knowing I’m making things easier for you, even if it isn’t by much. Do you understand?”

She motioned for him to hand her a pair of workboots on the far end of the bed, which went into the bottom of the trunk. The seagull in the window took off again, bored.

“Mom, I…” Sora rubbed the side of his head. “I’m...glad you want to help me, I guess. And I guess Leon and the others could always use a hand, but...I mean, there’s still Heartless and stuff out there. It’s not as safe as here.”

“And do you think I care about being home safe when I know for sure that you aren’t?”

“But what if something bad happens to you?”

“Then I suppose I’ll finally have a moment’s peace.” She grimaced and began trying to shut the overflowing trunk, which resisted. “No more lying in bed worrying that some friend of yours is going to knock on the door in the morning and tell me you’ve been killed, or that Riku and Kairi have gotten hurt, or that this Xehanort man’s had his way and now all the stars are going to fall out of the sky...”

She managed to get the trunk closed by sitting on it, but it sprang open a few inches as soon as she stood up. Undaunted, she rolled up her sleeves and bent headfirst into it, ruthlessly culling sentimental but unnecessary items, including jewelry and photos. Only one picture survived the purge, a five-year-old Sora and his father standing over a huge tuna fish with identical grins.

“Stay the night tonight,” she ordered, without looking up, “so I can get everything sorted with the house and give Mrs. Tsui the spare key. If you end up never coming home again, then I don’t want to either.”

Sora accepted defeat only when she promised she’d make all his favorite things for dinner.

* * *

A sour atmosphere hung over the four apprentices in the castle kitchenette as they sat around the chipped wooden table, picking at the remains of breakfast. Typically such a mood would have been because Lea or some other Keyblade wielder had paid them a visit—such visits had so far always come paired with earth-shattering news that they would all have been happier without—but for once that was not the source of their consternation.

“Explain yourself,” Even demanded, jabbing a forkful of scrambled eggs at Aeleus across the table. “What possessed you two to agree to such a thing? We’ve more than enough to deal with around here without taking on _yet another_ houseguest.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over them at this ominous insinuation, which Dilan broke with a growl, folding his arms.

“We’re no more pleased by it than you are, I assure you.”

“You could have refused!”

“They made the right choice, Even,” Ienzo cut in smoothly, reaching across the table for the last slice of toast. “Like it or not, we’re living on borrowed time. The more goodwill we can build with the committee before the inevitable, the better. If they ask a favor of us, we should oblige.”

He did not elaborate, nor did he need to, as they all knew what he meant. By some stroke of totally undeserved good luck, none of the Radiant Garden natives who had moved back to recolonize it knew that there was anyone to blame for the world’s destruction except the Heartless, Maleficent, and “Ansem.” The apprentices, when they’d recompleted, had been welcomed without suspicion, the Restoration Committee being far more interested in building a future than they were in inquiring into the new arrivals’ past. Lea had threatened to spill the beans if he weren’t allowed to crash at the castle on his occasional visits back to town, and so out of necessity the four had begun tentatively integrating themselves into the local community, knowing the locals’ convenient ignorance couldn’t last forever. Aeleus and Dilan by now attended meetings of the Restoration Committee with some regularity, and it was the news they’d brought from last night’s session that had caused the current fuss.

“To be frank, it doesn’t sound as if it will be much trouble,” Ienzo continued, buttering his toast, “and I expect it’s something we’ll be asked to do again if it goes well. Letting a new refugee sleep at the castle for a little while before they have a place in town isn’t too heavy a burden. After all, it’s not as if we can argue that we don’t have the space, is it?”

“We can’t go letting strangers poke around here!” Even insisted, through a mouthful of jam that might have had a bit of toast involved at some point. “Bad enough that the committee practically moved in while we were away.”

“We were dead,” Aeleus pointed out.

“It’s the principle of the thing!” Even dumped more sugar into his coffee, glaring at Aeleus. “If you both have committed us to this absurd situation, then so be it. We’ll simply have to tolerate an invader for a while. But I can’t see any sense in letting it happen again once they’ve moved out.” He gulped more coffee. “When did the committee say this...person, would be arriving?”

“Sometime later today, I think,” said Dilan. “Leon wasn’t very specific.”

“Wonderful.” Even grumbled and stole a sugar cube from the middle of the table, popping it into his mouth instead of adding it to the dregs of his coffee. “Well, let it be known that I objected at the outset. Apparently I’m the only one who understands the gravity of—”

The doorbell rang. As no one had realized the kitchenette even had a doorbell, the four looked at each other in surprise until the bell rang again, more insistently, and an inquiring knock on the door followed suit.

“I expect that’s someone from the committee,” said Ienzo, brushing crumbs out of his cravat, “with our answers.”

Dilan was sitting closest to the door, and stomped over to open it, ignoring the bickering that started up behind him between Even and the cool-headed Ienzo. He yanked the door open, glaring down the steps.

It wasn’t Leon. Or Yuffie. Or anyone else he knew.

“Oh, finally!” The woman beamed and adjusted her wide-brimmed straw hat. “This place is so big! I tried about four other doors.” She plucked the hat off of her head and fanned herself with it, her other arm weighed down with what looked like bags of groceries. “Good morning, I suppose! Did the committee tell you I’d be here this early? I talked to Aerith about it, but I don’t know if she mentioned...”

Dilan stared, frowning. Brown hair and brown eyes and tanned brown skin with freckles, midway through her thirties, perhaps...and something about her face vaguely uncanny, as if familiar. It unnerved him.

“This isn’t a bad time, is it?” the woman asked, putting her hat back on.

Dilan stifled a growling sigh, and against every instinct, he stepped aside, reluctantly letting her into the kitchen. There was no point telling her to come back later, after all. Any time of day would be a bad time for this madness.

“Our new guest, I believe,” he announced, his expression grim behind the newcomer’s back. The woman smiled at the other three, setting down her bags of groceries.

“What a delightful surprise,” Even managed through gritted teeth, glaring at Aeleus, who ignored him in favor of politely rising to his feet. Even muttered furiously under his breath and prepared to retreat, piling extra food onto his plate.

The woman set her hat on the counter, taking in the small kitchen with a keen eye. Despite the unfamiliar territory, she had the brisk, unapologetic energy of a morning person running their usual batch of errands.

“Good morning!” she chirped, nudging her grocery bags out of the way of foot traffic. “I hope I’m not interrupting breakfast?”

“Hardly, ma’am.” Ienzo had maintained his composure, and accepted the hand she offered, though the force of her enthusiastic handshake took him slightly aback. “You’ll forgive the mess, we hadn’t quite...erm, prepared. You’re the new settler that the Restoration Committee sent our way?”

“Oh, yes. And I don't want to be any trouble, Aerith said all of you have only been in town a few weeks yourselves.” She looked around the kitchen once more, obviously pleased with the modest space. “I’m terrible with names, I’m afraid, so you might have to introduce yourselves twice. My name is Ama. Wonderful to meet all of you.”

“Our pleasure,” Ienzo said diplomatically, while Even snapped, at the same time, “How long are you staying here?”

Ienzo threw him a pointed look, then cleared his throat and smoothed down the front of his sweater vest.

“We’re more than happy to host you while you get on your feet,” he told her. “Radiant Garden certainly needs all the helping hands it can get. Are you a friend of Leon’s from Traverse Town, by any chance?”

“Oh, no, not really. I only know him through Sora.”

“You know Sora?”

“I’m his mother.”

Even choked spectacularly on a bagel, wheezing in the background.

“I’m sorry?” Ienzo managed. “You’re Sora’s...”

“Mother. The only one he’s got, as far as I know.” Ama set some fresh fruit from one of the grocery bags onto the counter. She did not look surprised—or offended—by their astonishment. “Is it really that odd? Everyone I’ve met this week has acted like I’m some sort of mythical creature. I don’t know what that boy’s been telling people all this time...”

Even, still coughing, scooped up his plate of food and the half-empty coffee pot, muttering as he fled the scene. Ama watched him disappear into the hallway, looking concerned.

“Don’t mind him,” Ienzo told her, trying to keep control of the increasingly ridiculous situation. “He’s not very...sociable.”

Ienzo and Aeleus shared a look, and Aeleus stepped outside, returning with a large, heavy trunk and setting it down in the middle of the kitchen. Ama thanked him and unlocked it, talking animatedly as she rummaged through it headfirst, leaving the other three staring at her as if she were a raccoon that had snuck in and needed to be shooed out with a broom.

“—this whole Xehanort business, isn’t it? Sora and Riku explained the whole situation, but I don’t think I really believed it until I talked to all his other friends too. The things that boy has gotten mixed up in, I swear it’s like some kind of novel...have you met any of his other friends, by the way? I’m going to have to make a list, I can hardly keep count of them at this point. That poor girl Aqua, the things she’s been through—”

She retrieved a handkerchief out of the trunk and shut it again, sitting on it to make sure it closed. It didn’t quite, and Aeleus wordlessly did the honors before hoisting it onto his broad shoulder.

“You’ll have to forgive us,” Ienzo told her, “but we hadn’t, ah, prepared you a room yet. So you’re free to choose any one you like that’s in reasonable shape. Aeleus can show you the closest wing...”

“Oh, anywhere’s fine. I can tidy up wherever you put me.” She stuffed the handkerchief in her pocket. “I know this is an inconvenience, and I promise I won’t be a bother. You all won’t even know I’m here.”

Aeleus and Ienzo exchanged disbelieving looks before Aeleus escorted her out, making for the south tower, her bubbly voice echoing down the corridor long after they were out of sight. Ienzo and Dilan were left alone in the sunlit kitchen, surrounded by bags of fresh groceries. One of them tipped over, spilling oranges across the flagstones.

“Don’t blame me for this farce,” Dilan said at once.

“And why shouldn’t I?”

“They didn’t breathe a word about _the boy’s mother_. Do you really think we would have agreed if they’d so much as hinted it?”

“Well, it’s a little late now.” Ienzo shook his head, the long side of his hair rustling. “All we can do is try and get her out of here quickly. When did the committee say they’d have another place for her to stay?”

“There isn’t one yet. That’s why we’re in this mess.”

Ienzo sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“All right, then. But I’ll consider it your responsibility to keep the situation under control.”

“Excuse me?”

“I wasn’t under the impression that Aeleus does most of the talking at the committee meetings.” Ienzo brushed stray toast crumbs off the front of his sweater vest, then lightly kicked away an orange that had knocked into his boot. It rolled under the table. “With any luck, she’ll only be here for a few days. Keep her contained, and do everything you can to press the committee to find her another home.”

“I hardly need to be told that,” Dilan said sharply, but Ienzo pivoted and disappeared without waiting for confirmation, his stride brisk as he followed after Aeleus and the intruder. Left alone, Dilan swore under his breath and took stock of the situation.

“This is absurd,” he said aloud. The empty kitchen did not disagree.

Grumbling, he busied himself with retrieving all the errant oranges, then opened every cabinet and dug through them, searching. He even double-checked the musty cellar, returning empty-handed with cobwebs in his hair, and only a second check of all the upper and lower cabinets convinced him that the rations in the cabinet above the sink were all that were to be had at the moment. He grimaced and eyed the bottle, tilting it to help it catch the light. Not empty, no, but also not nearly enough left to deal with the situation at hand.

“We’re going to need more whiskey,” he muttered.

* * *

Even the ruins of Radiant Garden were a storybook wonder after a lifetime of sun and sea. Ama spent an hour sweeping and dusting her new room as Aeleus salvaged furniture for it from elsewhere in the building, and by the time she had a bed and dresser the place was at least clean, if as bare as a prison cell. It didn’t bother her a whit, and after wiping the windows she leaned out over the balcony and watched the activity in town, at this height not quite able to pick out faces in the crowd, but recognizing the young man called Leon at one point because of the enormous sword he carried.

This was exactly what she’d hoped for, she thought with satisfaction. In talking to the Restoration Committee, it had been apparent how much work needed to be done in this place to make it habitable, and much of it was exactly the sort of issues she’d dealt with her whole life on the islands: growing food, building houses, solving all the thorny problems that came from a small group of people trying to make a life together in harmony. The members of the Restoration Committee had aided Sora many times on his journey, when she herself hadn’t even known where he was or what danger he was in. It was only right that she repay that kindness, since she could not help Sora directly.

The thought of Sora made her tighten the handkerchief wrapped around her head.

She hadn’t ever considered stopping him. Of course her heart wanted to—the thought of Sora in peril horrified her to the core—but he had every ounce of her own stubborn resolve in addition to his father’s warmth and generosity, and she knew there was no power under the sun that could keep him from helping his friends. Well, so be it. Sora would go fight, and if she could not fight too, she could at least help his friends in his stead. Whenever this strange, fantastical war brought him back to this world, he’d find a hot meal waiting, and if the worst ever happened, she’d hear about it much sooner than she would have if she’d stayed on the islands, worrying in silence as she paced the empty house.

There was plenty she could do to be useful here, she thought resolutely. For a start, this castle could clearly use a good cleaning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be the crack version of Garbage AU, but it’s turning into the regular version of Garbage AU with extra emphasis on the cracky bits (of which there are many—there’s a reason it’s called 'garbage'). The overall plot of this AU extends a good way beyond the final battle with Xehanort, but as for how far along I’ll get in writing this particular story...well, who knows. I’ll stop writing it when it stops amusing me.

“I don’t give a rootin’ hoot whether it’s science or magical power.” Cid jammed the toothpick between his teeth, chewing it, and scratched at the straw-colored stubble under his chin. “No, I guess if I had to choose, I’d rather put my munny on the powers of science. Magic’s finicky—more finicky than screwin’ together some furniture or codin’ up a program. You never know when a spell ain’t gonna work right.”

He rolled the toothpick to the other side of his mouth, looking around the room at his small audience, which was paying varying degrees of attention.

“Now, I’m not sayin’ we shouldn’t use magic for anything. I’m just sayin’ we shouldn’t use it for everything. If we really wanna start this place off on the right foot, we oughta make sure it runs smooth without any magical help. Food growin’ and the water supply stayin’ clean, that kinda thing. That way there’s no surprises down the line if a spell fizzles out.”

Leon and Tifa nodded, but they were the only ones really listening. Yuffie and Aerith could be heard outside in the yard, herding chickens, and Sora’s mother and Merlin were still busy at the chalkboard, a moogle hovering alternately over each of their shoulders and offering helpful suggestions for the diagram they were cobbling together.

“I get what you’re saying,” Tifa told Cid, hitting a fist lightly into her palm. “It’s going to be a lot of work, but we don’t have any choice if we want the town to succeed.”

Leon had been leaning against the wall with folded arms, his gunblade propped against the wall beside him. He straightened up, taking care not to knock the sword over with an errant elbow.

“Tifa’s right. We’ll never convince people to settle here if we can’t get this place to be self-sufficient, and it definitely isn’t right now. If something happened to gummi travel, things would get ugly around here, fast.”

“That’s just what I’m thinkin’ about.” Cid munched thoughtfully on his toothpick, watching Ama and Merlin and Mog finalize the drawing on the chalkboard, Mog flitting around with an eraser half his size. “We can’t keep importin’ all our food n’ everything else. Need some kinda farmin’ setup here. Gotta make sure people can at least get the basics without goin’ off-world.”

“And we really need to get the Heartless under control,” Tifa added. “Even with the security system, I don’t think people feel as safe as they did back in Traverse Town.”

Further discussion was interrupted by a large brown chicken bursting through the open back door, leaving a trail of feathers. Yuffie dove in after it.

“Leona! Get back here!”

The chase didn’t last long. As the chicken scurried past the blackboard, Ama bent and scooped it up, pinning its wings to its sides. It pecked her hands to no avail, and she handed the irate bird off to Yuffie, who hustled back outside with it before returning, evidently having had her fill of poultry wrangling for the morning. Leon raised an eyebrow at her.

“Leona?” he asked. “Really?”

Yuffie grinned and flicked her bangs.

“Hey, come on, it’s the same color as your hair. And almost as grumpy as you, too. Besides, Aerith named it, not me.”

Leon sighed and moved to the blackboard, where Cid had already joined Merlin, Mog, and Ama in assessing the fruits of their labor. What the diagram lacked in legibility, it made up for in detail. Mog took the liberty of erasing a few stray chalk lines from the edges as Ama made more notes along the bottom.

“This ought to be big enough for a dozen birds,” she was saying. “As long as you put it under a decent shade tree, or have a canvas over it. They like to be able to get away from the sun if they want.”

She dusted chalk off of her hands.

“Looks pretty straightforward,” Cid grunted, pleased. “An’ if this design works, we can put up as many of ‘em as we need.”

Merlin tapped the blackboard with his wand. The chalk lines magically peeled themselves off of it into three-dimensional space, drifting away and settling onto a large roll of paper that had been laid across some of Cid’s broken computer equipment. The chalk lines stuck on top of the paper like string before melting a little, turning into ink, until the paper contained a perfect copy of the drawing that had been on the now-empty blackboard. No one batted an eye at the casual display of wizardry except Ama, who looked thoroughly impressed.

“Well, then I suppose that’s enough to be getting on with,” said Merlin, stroking his beard. “Though why we can’t just _conjure_ _up_ this contraption is beyond me.”

“Quit yer yappin’.” Cid rolled up the blueprints and stuck them into his waistband, speaking around his omnipresent toothpick. “We’re gonna build this thing the right way, and that’s that.”

“Suit yourself,” sniffed Merlin, adjusting his glasses. Mog hovered beside his head.

“The real question is, is it Heartless-proof, _kupo?”_

“Do Heartless even eat chickens?” Tifa wondered. “I mean, do chickens have hearts?”

They all pondered the philosophical implications of the question.

“I’m pretty sure the Heartless go after anything that’s alive,” Leon decided. “Better safe than sorry, anyway. We’ll give this a shot and see if it holds up.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Cid tapped the map at his side with one hand. “All right, now—who all’s helpin’ me get started out back?”

* * *

Dilan sat alone at the kitchen table, musing darkly over tea. He would have much preferred one last cup of coffee to round off this unusual morning, but as Even had absconded with the coffee pot, that was not an option. If the pot didn’t reappear in the kitchen of its own accord, he’d probably have to go threaten to pilfer a piece of lab equipment as a substitute. Though really, a missing coffee pot was the least of his worries at the moment.

He grimaced and took a swig of tea, which was beginning to go cold.

Life used to be so easy, he thought morosely. The Organization’s true intentions notwithstanding, it had at least been a blissfully simple existence. You woke up, got the day’s mission, fulfilled it, and then went to sleep so you could do it again the next day. Sometimes new people showed up, and you learned their names at a long boring meeting, and then business went on as usual. Sometimes those people tried to desert, and you stabbed them in the face with a lance, and then business went on as usual. And you never had to think about mundane, petty things like budgeting munny or doing laundry...hell, you didn’t even have to eat food if you didn’t want to. You just did what you were told, and once in awhile you might get a day off for vacation. Best of all, you didn’t have any feelings, or at least, not any complicated ones.

Really, it hadn’t been a bad arrangement, all things considered.

He drained the last of his tea.

No feelings...well, whether that had been true or not didn’t matter now. As Xaldin, he hadn’t let himself dwell on the Organization’s stated goal of regaining hearts, and in any case Xemnas had always promised that acquiring Kingdom Hearts would elevate all of them out of their predicament. Infused with its power, they would become higher lifeforms, able to reap the benefits of having a heart without also becoming prey to its many weaknesses.

Except all that had been a load of horseshit, apparently.

So that had been it, then: years of lies, an ignoble death at the hands of a gratingly naive boy, and suddenly here they were again, returned to their old selves—painfully human, with all the painfully human flaws they’d originally had and then some. Recompleting had been such a nasty shock that Dilan still didn’t feel comfortable in his own skin, and he was beginning to suspect that he never would. He wasn’t upset about existing, but he couldn’t pretend he was thrilled about it, either. Mostly it was just inconvenient, and uncomfortable.

He pushed the empty mug away, brooding.

All of that to take in, and then the added challenge of integrating with the new community in Radiant Garden, the former apprentices feverishly pretending to be passably decent people. And just when they’d managed to get a handle on that circus act, the Keyblade hero had come and interfered with their plans again, if tangentially, through a relative. Granted, the woman didn’t seem to know that all of them had been Sora’s enemies, and with any luck, they could keep it that way. But that didn’t make the situation much better. Of all the coincidental, absurd things that could have happened...

A loud squawking noise interrupted his thoughts.

Scowling, Dilan realized the squawking was getting louder by the moment, and soon it was accompanied by a variety of other interesting banging noises, culminating in someone knocking hard on the door.

“Hello? Is anyone in there?”

Briefly Dilan considered wandering away and leaving the woman to her own devices. After another loud squawk, however, he forced himself to his feet, remembering Ienzo’s admonition that he was to keep collateral damage to a minimum. He steeled himself and opened the door.

A large crate on a pair of legs greeted him. At the sound of the door opening, the crate wobbled and expelled feathers, squawking even louder.

“Oh, thank you! I wasn’t sure if anyone was still downstairs. Give me a hand with this, would you? It’s a bit heavy…”

The crate was shoved into his arms. Something pecked at his glove through a gap in the wooden slats, and he grit his teeth, stepping back from the door to let the woman in. Setting the crate down on the table let him better examine its contents.

“Are these...chickens?”

“Only a couple. I’ll get more later.”

Ama tied on an apron and disappeared into the cellar, leaving Dilan staring disbelievingly at the crate. A large brown hen stared back through the slats, its beady eye malevolent.

“Is there any particular _reason_ you’ve brought in chickens?” he asked.

She reappeared from the cellar with an armful of vegetables, which she dumped onto the counter next to the sink.

“Well, you don’t have any here at the castle, do you?”

“No...”

“There you go, then. Problem solved.”

Dilan mentally ran through a list of all of the problems they’d had in the past few weeks. There were a lot of them. “Absence of chickens” was not one.

“There seems to be a misunderstanding,” he began, but was interrupted when Ama opened the crate and released the birds into the kitchen. The fat brown hen fluttered to the ground and started pecking at Dilan’s boots.

“Oh, you behave.” Ama gently kicked it away. “You’ve got eggs to lay.”

The hen stalked off. It paced in a circle around the kitchen before settling down under the table, fluffed up like an angry basketball.

“Aerith said that one’s been harassing the other brooders,” Ama explained, “so they let me take her off their hands. I think she’ll calm down once she’s had some time to herself.”

The other chicken was an old black rooster. It had apparently not enjoyed its time in the crate, as it put as much distance between itself and the hen as it could, skittering back and forth in front of the oven. Ama paid it little attention, too busy opening up cupboards, setting water to boil in two massive pots while she rinsed and dried a cutting board.

She’d been back for all of three minutes, and already Dilan sensed the beginnings of a headache. He forced himself to take stock of the situation instead of abandoning the scene.

Realistically, he ought to just engage the woman in small talk, and normally he would even have been suited to the task, manipulative and silver-tongued as he was. But the sheer stupidity of the situation confounded him. After failing to come up with an opening line, he settled for taking a seat at the table, taking care to avoid upsetting the hen sulking beneath it. Fortunately Ama broke the silence once she glanced over her shoulder and saw that he’d sat down.

“Would you mind running everyone’s names by me again?” she asked him. “I know you’re Dilan, and the other one is…”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”

“The blond one, then.”

“That would be Even.” Feeling the need to clarify, he folded his arms, adding, “I doubt you’ll see him much. He’s an odd duck, and he’s had more trouble adjusting than the rest of us. He keeps his own hours.”

“And the other man in uniform?” She pushed aside a pile of chopped carrots and celery, making room for an onion. “He told me his name earlier, but I don’t think I got my tongue around it.”

“Aeleus.”

“Yes, Aeleus, that was it.” She quartered a couple of onions. “Aeleus and—Enzo?”

“Ienzo.”

“Ienzo.” The onion quarters went into the pot that had a lower flame under it. “What a nice young man.”

Dilan snorted loudly. The hen beneath the table squawked in agreement.

She kept talking as the water in one of the pots came near a boil, explaining cheerily about whatever she had been doing with the Restoration Committee for the past few hours. Apparently they’d been designing a large chicken coop or something similar, hence the birds she’d acquired, but Dilan ignored the details, distracted by the way she was turning every corner of _his_ kitchen upside-down in an apparent quest to make him as uncomfortable as possible.

Well...all right, the kitchen wasn’t ‘his’ officially. But he was the one who did the most cooking, so the kitchen was organized the way he preferred it, and no one else was allowed to sharpen the knives. He had to bite back his irritation at seeing another person rifle through it all.

“What is it you’re doing, exactly?” he finally asked, when Ama dumped more aromatics into one of the pots.

“Oh, well, I thought I’d get started on cooking a few things…” A halved leek joined the fray. “Would you all mind if I made dinner tonight? It’s the least I can thank you with.”

Of course he minded, but he forced himself not to say so. There wasn’t any harm in it, after all. Well...not unless she was a truly abysmal cook...but she seemed to know what she was doing so far. And it would be polite. Acting polite was important now—another annoying consequence of being human.

“We don’t usually eat together,” Dilan ventured, which was true. The revived apprentices generally only shared a meal when they had something to discuss. “But if you’re willing to go to all the trouble…”

“It’s no trouble at all. How many people live here?”

Dilan caught himself in the nick of time, correcting his answer.

“Just the four of us. And yourself, for the time being.”

“All right, then. I’ll make at least enough for seven.”

“Seven? Surely you mean five?”

“Well, you and Aeleus each count as two people, I think.” She whacked the flat of the knife with the heel of her hand to squash open a head of garlic.

Dilan wanted to argue with this math, but found that he couldn’t, and watched her like a disgruntled hawk as she bustled about, foraging for supplies and feeding one of the pots. A pang of unease struck him every time she touched anything.

“This isn’t dinner you’re starting on, is it?” he asked suspiciously. “It’s not yet noon.”

“Well, I thought I’d make some stock to start. It’s a bit of a project.” She knotted a length of heavy twine around an exposed pipe that ran above the sink, leaving it dangling. “I always keep some around at home. Besides, I like cooking, and I came here to work. I’m happy to finally be doing something useful, believe me.”

The last of the chopped vegetables disappeared into the second pot, which had just begun to simmer. Ama rifled through the fistfuls of herbs she’d brought in earlier, plucking different leaves and stems and bundling them into a bouquet. The gears of Dilan’s mind clinked together as he brooded, the black rooster pecking idly at the stone floor nearby.

Perhaps...Perhaps he could salvage something from this lunatic situation. Sora hadn’t presented any kind of threat since they’d recompleted, but realistically, the boy still had the potential to be a danger to them if he wanted to be. Even more of a danger than before, actually, now that he had several more young Keyblade wielders for allies. But having the boy’s mother here opened up the possibility of turning her a useful bargaining chip without her even realizing it. Not that Sora seemed the sort to hold a grudge, but still. It would be foolish to ignore an opportunity for obtaining this much leverage over him, in case they ever needed it.

The beginnings of a plan tentatively took shape in Dilan’s mind.

“This is going to take a few hours,” Ama said, “but Leon acted like they wouldn’t need me much for the rest of the day, so I thought I could just get some things started here and there…”

The black rooster strutted by her feet. Without missing a beat, she snatched it up with one hand, then laid it upside-down against her thigh and used her other hand to snap its spine just at the base of the skull. In its death throes it kept kicking, but she ignored the scratch of spurs against her forearm, stringing it up on the twine she’d tied to the pipes and slitting its throat with a quick, precise stroke. Bright red blood spattered into the sink.

The beginnings of Dilan’s plan were carefully reassessed.

“I’ll have to make a few other things too,” she said, mopping flecks of stray blood off of the rim of the sink, “but this ought to be enough to get started on dinner and have some left over...”

Once enough blood had drained out of the carcass, she untied it and dunked it into the pot of not-yet-boiling water several times, scalding it just enough to loosen the feathers before plucking the whole bird clean in half a minute. She hummed lightly as she started eviscerating it with practiced ease.

It wasn’t that blood and guts bothered him. He was already the one who handled such things in the kitchen, after all. But the woman’s attitude so far had given him the impression that she was a soft person, the source of her son’s foolish kindness and naivete. That might still be true—further observation was required—but there was apparently also a possibility that Sora’s proficiency with blunt weapons was genetic. Not a reassuring notion.

“Dilan?”

“Hrmph?” He forced his attention back to the immediate situation. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I was asking where all of you had been living before you moved back to town.” Ama dumped chunks of rooster into a bowl in the sink, rinsing excess blood from the meat. “Aerith was telling me that all of you didn’t come from Traverse Town. Everyone else on the committee seems to have wound up there, so I was curious.”

He could either lie about it, or tell half the truth. The latter would be an easier story to maintain in the long run.

“She’s right. All of us had been living elsewhere.”

“And what made you all decide to move back home after so long?”

“Extenuating circumstances. The...company we’d been involved with...disbanded.”

“Oh, I see. What did your company do?”

“Not a damned thing, in the end.” His tone sharpened with annoyance, not at her but at the truth of the answer he was forced to give. “Mostly we argued with one another over trivial nonsense.”

“Mm, I’ve been on some school committees like that.” She finished tying together a bundle of herbs and plopped it into the second pot, the one she hadn’t used to scald the rooster. Well-rinsed bones and giblets went in after it. “Well, you live and learn. Are you glad to be back home?”

Dilan had to think this through, genuinely unsure of the answer.

“I suppose I ought to be,” he said. It wasn’t untrue, as far as that went. “But things are...difficult. It’s not as if we can simply pick up where we left off.”

The hen underneath the table clucked. Dilan glanced under the table at it, satisfying himself that it was no longer in attack mode before easing out of his chair. He wanted to just head upstairs and forget this whole mess, but if she really was going to stand there and defile the kitchen all day, leaving her unsupervised was clearly unwise. Resigning himself to his task, he peeled off his gloves, rolling up his sleeves to the elbow, exposing his hairy forearms.

“Do you need any help with that?” he asked, certain of what the answer would be.

“Oh, well, I certainly won’t say no. Would you mind doing those potatoes over there, if you could? That would be wonderful.”

The swift _tunk-tunk-tunk_ of the knife hitting the cutting board punctuated her answer. Dilan found it strange to hear the noise without personally being the cause of it, but shook it off and found a paring knife, working beside her so that the peelings would fall into the bowl of chicken feathers and scraps she’d put beside the sink.

Just peel some damn potatoes, he told himself grimly, and act like all of this was nothing out of the ordinary. Like he was a perfectly normal person who was perfectly glad to help a perfect stranger cook a meal, never mind that the stranger had moved into his house, never mind that he’d barely been human for a month and didn’t have the hang of it, _never mind_ that the only reason he was here at all was because this woman’s son had violently bludgeoned him to death on another planet. Just act normal. Somehow.

By the stars, did she ever stop _talking?_ She was about as bad as a chicken herself.

“Your hair is lovely, by the way,” he heard her say. “How long did it take you to grow it out like that? I was wondering. I can’t imagine how much work all that must be.”

Dilan stopped and stared at her, trying to decide what her motive for such a remark might be. It crossed his mind that she was simply a nice, normal person, and that casually saying pleasant things was what nice, normal people did, but his brain refused to accept that answer. It had been a long time since nice, normal people had been a part of his life.

“It took several years,” he admitted. “Actually, it used to be longer, until...recently.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it. It suits you well.”

This was so brazen that Dilan stopped halfway through a potato, eyeing her with suspicion, but she was absorbed in her own chopping and did not seem to notice his disbelief.

“Do you always compliment strangers so freely?” he asked. Ama paused long enough to shrug.

“Is that odd? You know, it’s a funny thing...I’m so used to already knowing everyone I meet, because the islands aren’t very big. I don’t know if I’ve ever met so many strangers all at once in my life before now. I didn’t think about that before I left.” She made a thoughtful noise as she pushed a pile of diced vegetables aside, giving her more immediate room on the cutting board. “No one’s a stranger back home. Even if you don’t know everyone well, you at least know _of_ everyone, and now all of a sudden...”

So that was why she behaved so familiarly. Dilan made a mental note on the subject, trying to figure out how to turn it to his advantage. Surely one would present himself, if he kept paying attention.

Leverage, he reminded himself, starting on the next potato. Leverage over this woman could potentially come in extremely handy down the road, and all he had to do to get it was be a semi-competent actor for a few days. Easier said than done, after so many years without practice, but nevertheless…

It was fortunate that he’d always been a good liar.

“Hand me that knife, would you?” Ama asked, but then corrected herself. “Oh, never mind, the stock needs skimming. Hold on—”

“I’ll get it,” Dilan said gruffly, taking the lid off of the simmering pot.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the only pairing that will be in this story for a good long while, and even then, only as an occasional aside. Honestly, I can't imagine I'll stick with this fic long enough to make it to the handful of other ships that eventually develop...but on the very slim chance that I do, check the "Garbage AU" collection profile for spoilers on what those will be. Don't want you to waste your time reading this if it's just going to eventually turn into something you hate.

****“Nothing today?”

“It doesn’t seem so, no.” Ienzo sifted through a stack of books from the day’s salvage expedition to the castle library, organizing heavy spellbooks and compendiums of magical theory into piles atop the bed. The late afternoon sunlight angling through the bedroom window highlighted some volumes and not others, painting bright stripes on the bedspread. “Though I’ll have to search through all of this more thoroughly before I can be certain. There’s some material here I’m unfamiliar with. I don’t know what language this one is in, for example.”

He set aside the book in question, sorting the rest of his haul into categories. In the end he was left holding only a handful of small paperbacks, which he thumbed through idly before putting them on the nightstand.

“For you, Aeleus,” he explained. “Some of these seemed to your taste.”

Such a small display of thoughtfulness, and yet Zexion would never have done it, even if there’d been an opportunity. There was so much in him now that was new (or if not new, then at least previously unexpressed), and Aeleus still noticed all of these little kindnesses, even if they no longer surprised him. He watched as Ienzo tucked a book under his arm and moved to the cracked full-length mirror leaning against the wall, busying himself with unknotting and then retying his cravat, which had come loose. Instead of falling to the floor when he let go of it, the book under his arm simply hovered obediently in place in midair, and his elbow gently bumped it as he worked the knot.

“It’s been an interesting day, hasn’t it?” Ienzo asked his reflection. “And here I thought we’d already reached our quota on unpleasant surprises the last time a woman dropped by. But, here we are.”

His deliberately flippant tone did not fool Aeleus, who frowned as Ienzo finished tying off his cravat.

The last few weeks had required adjusting to more than just the sheer surprise of being alive. When the woman called Master Aqua had come to retrieve her Keyblade from the castle’s basement, the tale she’d told about the Xehanort they thought they knew had disturbed them all—even Ienzo, Aeleus was sure, for all Ienzo feigned that nothing ever truly caught him off guard. In the old days, Ienzo had been fascinated by Xehanort in all his handsome, dangerous brilliance, and in the Organization, Zexion had kept more closely under Xemnas’s wing than any of the other former apprentices. Ienzo had not admitted it, but learning the truth had to have stung him more harshly than anyone. For reasons Aeleus did not care to dwell on, Ienzo and then Zexion had presumed he was as close to their leader as one could hope to be, that he alone shared enough of Xehanort’s cunning and ambition to understand and be trusted by him. In reality, however, the supposed protege had known just as little—and been just as deceived and disposable—as all the rest of them.

Not that Aeleus had ever pressed Ienzo to talk about it, mind. But the thought was always there in the back of his head, and worried at him when he let it, as so many other thoughts now did. Being human was, he had to admit, far more mentally taxing than he remembered.

Then again, he’d had a lot less to worry about the first time around.

“Aeleus?”

Aeleus came out of his thoughts to find Ienzo watching him with a slight head tilt, bemused.

“Daydreaming again? You’ve been rather distracted lately, I have to say. It isn’t like you.”

“My apologies, Ienzo. I didn’t mean to ignore you.”

“I hope not. If I wanted to talk to someone who didn’t listen, I’d spend more time with Even.”

The jab was amusing, but Aeleus didn’t let himself show it, instead folding his arms as Ienzo moved back and forth across the bedroom, putting books onto shelves.

“Have you talked to him yet?” Aeleus prompted, not for the first time. “About your powers.”

Ienzo’s expression clouded. He paused in the act of setting a volume onto the shelf.

“As a matter of fact, I did bring it up with him today, finally. And he was exactly as much help as I’d assumed he’d be.” The book slid into place. “All he could tell me is that theoretically, it shouldn’t be possible. Which I know perfectly well.”

“Did he have any suggestions?”

“None I hadn’t thought of already.”

Ienzo made as if to fetch more books from the bed, but instead skirted it to join Aeleus in standing at the window. The bedroom Aeleus had chosen for himself offered a view of the center of the new settlement in the castle’s lee, and for a while now Aeleus had been keeping half an eye on today’s comings and goings, wondering if the bustle of activity was anything he could have helped with. There was always plenty to do in town, building and mending and planting and planning, since the Restoration Committee’s ambition and enthusiasm was at least as great as its inexperience.

“They’re certainly a dedicated bunch,” Ienzo observed, as a handful of settlers worked together to haul a wheelbarrow’s worth of wood and scrap metal across the plaza, possibly the beginnings of a new house. “But I suppose they have to be, don’t they? There’s no easy way to make a home out of this mess.”

His tone would have deceived anyone except Aeleus, who was sure the younger man’s mind had not left the previous topic.

“There’s no shame in being worried, Ienzo,” Aeleus said gently, testing that theory. “You’re missing a part of yourself. It’s no different than losing a limb.”

He was right, for Ienzo gave him a sudden, sharp look, as if admonishing his audacity.

“Don’t put it like that.” He passed a hand through the long part of his hair. “It will come back to me, Aeleus—one way or another. It has to.”

It did not have to. Both knew it and neither said it, and when Aeleus put a hand comfortingly on the small of Ienzo’s back, Ienzo stood on tiptoe to kiss the underside of his jaw. Aeleus let him, but reciprocated only halfheartedly, and instead of acknowledging his hesitation Ienzo leaned in harder, pulling him down by the collar of his uniform, petulant and searching, nuzzling the rough stubble that had already begun to shadow Aeleus’s jaw even after this morning’s shave.

These kisses had changed too, since recompleting. Softer and more searching, still hungry but in a less aggressive way.

“I hate to interrupt,” said a dry voice.

Dilan glared at them from the doorway. It was impossible to tell whether his scowl was of specific disapproval or general misanthropy, and Ienzo looked faintly annoyed as he and Aeleus broke apart, Aeleus fixing the collar of his uniform that Ienzo had tugged out of shape.

“I’m sorry, Dilan, did you need something?” Ienzo asked pointedly.

Dilan harrumphed.

“No. But I’ve been tasked with informing everyone that dinner is in an hour. And attendance isn’t optional.”

“Ah. And who’s enforcing attendance, might I ask?”

“I am.” He glared harder. “I’ve had to listen to that woman go on all afternoon. I’ve paid my dues.”

“Surely she can’t be as bad as all that.” Ienzo brushed nothing off the front of his sweater vest. “Though...How is our new guest, generally speaking?”

“Abominably friendly. It’s clear where the boy gets it from. I think she’d talk to a brick wall if it had a face drawn on.”

“You haven’t told her anything inconvenient, I hope?”

“Of course not. I’m not daft.”

“I wasn’t implying it.” Ienzo made a show of his nonchalance as he skirted the bed and gathered up the last few books that he’d left on it. “Dinner in an hour, you said? And what are we having?”

“What _aren’t_ we having. The woman can cook, I’ll admit, but she portions like she expects half the town to turn up.” He continued to glare at the pair of them, as if something about all this was their fault. “Do either of you know where Even’s hiding, by any chance?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Ienzo sent the last of the books scattering as if releasing a flock of doves, each one levitating and finding a home on different shelves throughout the room. “You aren’t going to try and make him come down, are you? You know he doesn’t like to stop working to take meals.”

“Well, he’ll stop for this one, if I have anything to say about it. I haven’t slaved away all day for nothing.”

Dilan stomped off, leaving Ienzo and Aeleus alone once more in the sparse, sunlit bedroom, but the mood had been spoiled, and Ienzo did not try to resume being affectionate. Instead he heaved a theatrical sigh and began meddling with the nearest bookshelf, as if in resignation.

“Well, then. I suppose we should be polite and put in an appearance, shouldn’t we?” Without waiting for Aeleus’s answer, he continued, “Though with any luck, perhaps we can learn something useful from this woman. She _is_ Sora’s mother, after all. Of all the people who could possibly have turned up...”

He found the book he was looking for and pulled it out, flipping through it as he wandered back across the room.

“It isn’t the strangest thing to happen lately,” Aeleus pointed out, feeling obligated to put the situation into perspective. Ienzo brushed dust motes off the book's cover.

“You’re right. Though to be frank, I almost wish it was.”

* * *

The kitchen smelled good enough to allay any suspicions of poison or incompetence, but they still weren’t quite prepared for the sheer volume of Ama’s output. Downstairs they were confronted by roasted potatoes and leafy greens and vegetable casserole and sticky rice and chicken soup and some other vegetable-based casserole, with another dish simmering in the oven that was perhaps intended for tomorrow, or for delivery to someone else on the committee.

“Well, this is certainly a spectacle.” Ienzo paused in the doorway to take stock of the situation, watching a humming Ama ladle out a bowl of soup. “I hope you haven’t overworked yourself? You’re a guest, after all.”

“Oh no, no, it’s been fun.” The soup found its way to the table, and she retrieved the dish from the oven. “Honestly, it’s been ages since I’ve gotten to cook for a group. Sora’s friends used to come over for dinner all the time, but—well. He’s been busy.”

She set a casserole onto a trivet in the center of the dinner table with the pleased authority of a mason laying the last foundation stone into place.

“No, it wasn’t any trouble. Besides, Dilan was a big help. All of you can go ahead and get started, I’m just tidying up a little bit.” She took a headcount, then added, “But where’s Even?”

“Don’t wait on him, ma’am,” Ienzo told her, seating himself. “He’ll come down for leftovers when he feels like it.”

“He’s not going to eat with everyone?”

“Probably not, no.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll make him a tray, then.”

She ladled out the last of the soup from the pot, making sure it had plenty of vegetable chunks and shredded chicken in it. Ienzo looked to Dilan for an explanation, who only shrugged in answer: _you see what I’ve been dealing with?_

“Erm, there’s really no need to be so...considerate,” Ienzo said, as Ama rifled through the cabinets in search of a plate that wasn’t too cracked. (Between the world falling into darkness, over a decade of total abandonment, and Maleficent’s brief stint as its primary occupant, the castle’s miscellaneous contents had not held up well.) Various pieces of dinnerware clanked loudly as she searched.

“Don’t be silly. I’m not going to let anyone miss a meal just because they can’t make it to the table. If he’s really as busy as all that, then the least I can do is—oh, hello! There you are! We were just talking about you.”

Even had stuck his head in the door, perhaps lured down by the smell. Instead of replying to Ama, he scuttled to the fridge, rifling through the back of it. Distressed noises soon accompanied his rummaging.

“What’s happened in here?” he demanded. “Everything’s been moved around. Where are all my nutrient solutions?”

“What are you looking for, now?” Ama asked over his shoulder, cleaning her hands on a tea towel.

“These containers…” He pulled a glass bottle out of the fridge and held it up, scowling. It was filled with amber-colored chicken stock. “What is this? Where are the others?”

“Oh, those bottles? They were all filled with some kind of slime, so I rinsed them out.”

“You did _what?”_

Even dug through the fridge like a rat through trash, his dismay mounting.

“That was a week’s worth of preparations!” he fumed. “That _slime,_ as you put it, was a supplement that I specifically developed to contain all of the nutrients necessary in a meal. I came up with the formula years ago, so I wouldn’t have to waste time cooking in the middle of an experiment—You threw out _all_ of it?”

“You were drinking that?” Ama looked vaguely horrified. “Good lord, no wonder you’re so skinny...Why don’t you just come sit down? Here, I’ll go ahead and fix you a plate—”

Gently but firmly, and still with visible alarm, she steered Even to the table by the shoulders and plonked him into a seat, impervious to his diatribe. Even suddenly found himself seated across from a mildly amused Ienzo.

“Don’t let us detain you, if you’re occupied,” Ienzo told him. “But you’re more than welcome to stay and eat with the adults.”

Even spluttered, but whatever retort he wanted to make was preempted by a heaping plate of food being shoved in front of him, joined by a bowl of soup and another bowl of rice. Ama moved a couple of side dishes closer to him for good measure.

“Go on and get started,” she told him, “before it gets cold. Here, how about a little of this too...”

Even’s pile of food grew taller. He looked equal parts indignant and tempted, and poked suspiciously at a mass of something warm and savory on the edge of the plate. When it did nothing untoward in response, he sampled it. Apparently it passed muster, for he dug into the rest at once, though still with a rather sour expression. He also gave Ienzo a few angry looks for good measure, though these accomplished nothing.

Dinner was actually less awkward than anticipated, mostly because no one said anything of consequence. It was easy to avoid conversation when the food tasted as good as it did, and it was easy to keep what conversation there was about topics they could all discuss with minimal lying: the work of the committee, the difficulties of life now, and the occasional speculation about what Sora and his compatriots were doing in the pursuit of Xehanort. Ama seemed to assume that all of them, like Leon and the rest, knew Sora simply as an occasional visitor and helping hand, and no one wanted to risk mentioning anything that might disabuse her of that notion.

“As a matter of fact,” Ienzo said at one point, “I think I speak for us all when I say we wouldn’t be averse to learning a little more about Sora himself. We’ve only met him irregularly.”

He swept the rest of the table with a meaningful look.

“After all, Sora’s proven himself quite unique, hasn’t he? A wielder of the Keyblade...Those are exceedingly rare.”

“Not anymore,” Even grumbled, through a mouthful of potatoes.

Ama rested one hand on her cheek.

“Well, I’m afraid I don’t have much to say about anything Keyblade-related. I hardly know anything about Sora’s adventuring except what he and everyone else have told me. He and Riku have been gone for about two years, doing all of this, and now Kairi’s signed up for it too...honestly, I don’t know how they expect me not to worry.” She used her chopsticks to toy with a bite of rice. “Of course, I’m glad he’s found a way to help people. And I’m proud of everything he’s managed to do. I’m just...surprised by it all, I suppose. Is he really as good with that sword thing as he says he is?”

Through additional potatoes, Even made a noise that sounded like an affirmation. Dilan grunted in agreement.

“Well, still. It’s been hard to take it all in at once. But I understand how important it is for him to stop this Xehanort person. I don’t think I really got my head around it until I met some of Sora’s friends and heard about everything that Xehanort’s done so far, but really, the sheer nerve of that man…” She looked around the table. “Have any of you met Aqua, by any chance?”

Everyone hesitated. This was getting a little too close to dangerous territory.

“Once,” said Aeleus at last. “She came by to retrieve some of her things.”

“So you’ve heard the story about what Xehanort did to her friends?”

“The gist of it,” Ienzo said warily.

“Isn’t it awful?” She stabbed into her rice with unnecessary vehemence. “The things some people will do to get their way...it turns my stomach. To think a monster like him grew up in the same place I did...”

No one really processed this for a second or two, but when they did, the four looked at each other.

“I’m sorry?” Ienzo asked. “Are you saying that Xehanort is from your world?”

“Oh, yes. Didn’t Sora tell you? But I think he only recently found out himself...Yes, Xehanort’s from our world. From the Destiny Islands, even.”

“Which one?” asked Aeleus.

“Which island?”

“Which Xehanort.”

The fact that this was a perfectly good question gave everyone a moment’s pause.

“The real Xehanort,” Ama said, “or—the first one, I guess. I don’t really understand how it all works, with there being so many of him. But I’m talking about the original man who started all of this. He came from the islands, a long time ago.”

“You’re quite sure of that, ma’am?” Ienzo pressed.

“Yes, very. When I first heard, I went and asked around town here and there, just to try and find out if it was true, and now I’m sure it is. A few of the old timers remember a ‘Xehanort’ from when they were kids.” She pondered. “Apparently, he left the islands when he was a young man. Around Sora’s age or so. I don’t think he ever came back—or if he did, no one’s left alive who remembers running into him again. His disappearance was quite the story back in the day, and now it’s sort of a local legend. Funny thing...I’d always heard that rumor growing up, about the boy who left without a trace, but I never really gave it much thought...”

Everyone digested this, masking their reactions with varying levels of success.

“Well, that’s certainly...interesting,” Ienzo said at last. “Not especially useful knowledge, but good to have.”

“Who’s to say whether it’s useful?” Even argued. “We don’t know a single thing about Xehanort, as it turns out. At this stage, any piece of the truth we can discover has some value to us.”

Ienzo threw him a sharp look, but did not stoop to an argument, and Even resumed eating. He had made no measurable progress on his meal, as Ama reflexively shoveled more food onto any part of his dinner plate that became visible.

“I’d like to learn everything I can about Xehanort, too,” she said, “for what that’s worth. But realistically, I don’t know how much it would help. From everything I’ve heard, it doesn’t sound like there’s anything under the sun that will keep him from doing what he wants to do. We just have to trust the kids to stop him. Or at least hope they win that war he wants to have.”

“Trust they’ll win,” Dilan mused, “and sit idle in the dark until then, leaving our fate to a band of children. Hardly a pleasant state of affairs.”

“Oh, I agree. That’s why I came here.”

She assessed the condition of the table, then began stacking empty serving dishes on top of each other.

“I want to help Sora, even if it’s not much. After all, when you know a storm is coming, you can’t just ignore it. You’ve got to start boarding up the windows.” She looked around at all of them, a pile of dirty dishes in one hand. “Really, I can’t thank you enough for having me here on short notice. I don’t know how long any of this will last, but we’ll all have to make the best of it while the kids are out fighting.”

One last plate went atop the stack balanced in her hand.

“I just hope Sora’s doing all right.”

“You’ve nothing to worry about on his account,” said Dilan, a bit grudgingly. “The boy can hold his own when pressed.”

“That’s kind of you to say, but I still worry. How can I not? All I’ve heard about is how many times he’s nearly gotten killed these past couple of years, running around out there. Always fighting monsters and this Xehanort man, and all sorts of other people, apparently.”

The phrase _other people_ made everyone freeze, but Ama thankfully did not delve any deeper into this idea, instead beginning to ferry empty dishes to the sink in order to free up elbow room at the cramped table. As everyone was mostly finished eating anyway, this turned into a general disbanding, and soon dirty dishes filled the sink. Ama only got halfway through scrubbing the first pan before Aeleus volunteered to take over.

“Oh, would you really? Thank you, that would be such a help. I wouldn’t mind it usually, but I need to go get a handle on the laundry. Be sure to wrap up that egg casserole and put it in the fridge, that’s for the meeting tomorrow morning...”

It still took her a while to leave, but when she did only Ienzo and Aeleus remained in the kitchen. Ienzo watched Aeleus start on the dishes with a bemused expression.

“Are you really going to tackle all of that, Aeleus? It's quite a job.”

They exchanged looks in a brief, wordless discussion. It ended with Ienzo surrendering and rolling up his sleeves to join Aeleus at the sink.

The two were a seasoned team, and powered through the task with uncommon efficiency, Aeleus scrubbing dishes clean and Ienzo drying them lightly before setting them onto a rack. They did not have to talk to coordinate their work, and for the bulk of it there was only the slosh of soapy water to underscore their shared silence. As usual, it was Ienzo who broke it, once they neared the end of the work.

“I was right, wasn't I? She  _does_ know useful information, whether she realizes it or not. The question is exactly how much.” He took stock of his own reflection in the chipped plate he was drying, holding it up to the evening light from the window. “We should glean as much as we can from her while she’s here, don’t you think?”

He got through a few more dishes before realizing that Aeleus had finished his work at the sink and was methodically arranging small portions of leftovers onto a tray.

“Are you taking that upstairs, Aeleus?”

“Someone should. Will you get an ice cream?”

Ienzo tried, but his inspection of the freezer turned up nothing in the way of sea salt, or indeed any other flavor.

“All out already, it looks like. Even must be eating them between meals.” As Aeleus redistributed the tray’s contents to better balance the weight, Ienzo mused, “You know, we really ought to haggle with the duck for a discount. At this rate we’re practically buying in bulk.”

Aeleus picked up the tray. Its contents shivered but held steady, and none of the soup spilled. Again he and Ienzo had one of their wordless conversations made possible by long acquaintance, Aeleus asking whether Ienzo wanted to join him and Ienzo politely refusing. Ienzo emphasized his point by returning to the sink, beginning to put away those of the dishes that had already fully drip-dried.

“We should tell her, Ienzo,” Aeleus said.

“About what?”

Aeleus lifted the tray, making Ienzo frown at the implication.

“You’re not serious, I hope?”

“It’s better than having her find out on her own.”

“She won’t find out. Not unless we’re extremely lax with security.” Ienzo set a stack of clean plates back into a cabinet. “Really, Aeleus, be pragmatic. This is the least inconvenient arrangement.”

He opened a bottom cabinet. A brown chicken hopped out onto the floor, clucking sleepily.


	4. Chapter 4

“Sora? Can you hear me? Sora?”

Cid’s enormous computer screen flickered with static, though Ama was sure she could hear Sora’s distorted voice trying to speak through the white noise, and his outline was distinguishable every second or two. She picked up the crystal ball that Merlin had magically rigged up to the computer and gave it a whack with the side of her fist, which cleared up most of the static, revealing Sora peering at her through one of the monitors inside the cockpit of the gummi ship, Donald and Goofy standing half-offscreen to either side.

“Mom!” Sora grinned, pressing his face close to the monitor so that his grin filled the whole computer screen mounted on Cid’s wall. “Wow, it actually worked! Cool!”

“Good to see you, sweetheart.”

“How is everything, Mom? How have you been?”

“Busy-busy, in a good way! There’s never a dull moment around here.”

“Do you like Radiant Garden so far? It’s pretty different from home, isn’t it?”

“It is, but I’m enjoying it. I’ve settled right in.”

“Are Leon and the others treating you okay?”

“Oh, yes. In fact...” She rummaged through her pockets, producing a laminated card. “I got this just this morning.”

The card proudly listed her as a member of the Hollow Bastion Restoration Committee, except the words ‘Hollow Bastion’ had been crossed out, with ‘Radiant Garden’ scribbled in instead.

“Hey, that’s great! You’re an official committee member! Me too.”

“Are you really? That’s good to know. We’ll be sure to put you to work the next time you visit.”

“Mom…”

“I’m joking, honey. You’ve got enough on your plate already.” She tilted the crystal ball to get a better angle. “Have you stopped Xehanort yet, by any chance?”

“Seriously, Mom? We don’t even know where he is.”

“Well, it can’t hurt to ask. When you do find him, give him an extra beating for me, won’t you? Heaven knows he deserves it.”

“Er...I will, I guess.”

Ama gave up on trying to adjust the viewing angle and set the crystal back back onto its rune-carved plinth, brushing strands of hair out of her eyes and unfastening the handkerchief tied around her arm, folding it neatly into a square and putting it back in her pocket.

“How is everyone else doing?” she asked. “How are Riku and Kairi holding up?”

“They’re not with me.” Sora stepped back from the monitor to reveal the cockpit of the gummi ship, helmed only by himself, Donald, and Goofy. “Kairi’s still training with Lea at Yen Sid’s tower, and Riku and Aqua are teaching them. At least, I think they’re still there...Aqua might have left by now. She’s supposed to go meet us soon, over at Castle—”

Donald stomped a webbed foot onto Sora’s toes, making him yelp.

“Ow! What was that for, Donald?”

“Weren’t you listening to what the King said yesterday?” Donald squawked. “We can’t tell anyone about the plan!”

“But it’s just my mom…”

“That doesn’t matter!” Donald glared at Sora, who turned to Goofy for support, but Goofy only looked thoughtful.

“Gawrsh, I think Donald’s right, Sora,” he said, scratching his muzzle. “Remember what Miss Aqua said about havin’ some tricks up our sleeve? Keepin’ everything secret is part of her big strego...er, stratos…”

“Strategy!” Donald snapped.

Sora sighed, hanging his head.

“I guess you’re right.” He looked up. “Sorry, Mom, but I can’t tell you what we’re up to right now. It’s really important, and we don’t want Xehanort to find out. You understand, right?”

Ama folded her arms, fighting not to frown, so that her lips thinned dangerously and her brow knitted.

“Well...if that’s how it has to be,” she said at last, displeased. “But you be  _ careful _ out there, you hear me? And check in with me once in awhile, if you can.”

Goofy put his hands on Sora’s shoulders.

“Don’t you worry, ma’am! We’ll be fightin’ alongside Sora the whole way. We’ll make sure nothin’ happens to him.”

“Yeah!” Donald agreed.

“Thank you both. I appreciate that.”

“You’re not upset, are you?” Sora asked. “I would tell you everything, but we really do have to keep it under wraps.”

“I understand, Sora. I just don’t like it, is all.” Ama tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the same shade of brown as her son’s. “I’m glad all of you at least  _ have  _ a plan of some kind. That sounds like it’s a step up from how these things usually go.”

She put her fists on her hips, carefully scrutinizing every inch of Sora through the rippling, faded transmission.

“Now, are you sure you’re eating enough every day? All that training and fighting takes a lot of energy, you know. You need to keep your strength up.”

“I’m fine, Mom.”

“Are you washing your clothes like you should?”

“Mom, I told you, I don’t have to wash this outfit. It’s magic.”

“Well, I’ll bet your underwear isn’t.”

Donald snickered as Sora’s mother lovingly needled him about a dozen other infractions, guessing, worrying, trying to parent from afar. It took several minutes for Sora to extricate himself from the interview, and when the call ended, he flopped backwards into the pilot seat and leaned his head back, looking like he’d just survived a round of interrogation.

“I’m glad she’s doing okay, but whew. Too many questions.”

“Aw, Sora, your mom’s just worried about ya,” Goofy said, reaching over to flip a switch on a control panel nearby. “Parents can’t help it. She just wants to make sure you’re safe, that’s all.”

“You’re right, Goofy.” Sora scratched at his spiky hair. “But I wish I could stop her from worrying.”

“You aren’t worried about _her_ , are ya, Sora?” Goofy asked. “‘Cause she left your islands?”

“Of course not. Radiant Garden’s pretty safe these days, right? Leon and the others have been working really hard to try and clear out the Heartless.” He watched a blip appear on a maplike screen, flashing. “Mom wants to feel like she’s helping, and that’s okay. We need all the help we can get.”

He pushed a few more buttons before settling back into his seat, watching a set of coordinates flare to life onscreen.

“There’s nothing bad going on there—and besides, she’s my mom. What kind of trouble could she get into?”

* * *

Concern began to mount at the castle when, after several days, the woman showed no sign of leaving.

Granted, it was sometimes possible to forget she was there at all, since she spent so many hours in town. Outside of mealtimes, the only concrete evidence of her existence was a mysterious cleanliness that radiated outwards from the kitchen and her bedroom, expanding in scope by the day. Hallways and stairwells were scrubbed and dusted, fixtures polished, rugs beaten and washed, broken lights replaced with working ones pilfered from elsewhere in the castle. This frenzy of tidying was harmless but unsettling, since they rarely caught her in the act, simply stumbling upon the results as they went about their routines. It was as if they’d hired a retired ninja as a housecleaner.

On day two, the small chalkboard had appeared, hanging off the side of the fridge so that it was the first thing one saw upon entering the kitchen from the hallway.

“What is this about?” Dilan asked, when Ama turned up with a basket of fresh vegetables from her early morning shopping. He poked the chalkboard, scowling.

“Oh, that! It’s just a little thing I put up. I thought that with everyone having their own schedule, we could use it for notes. Merlin’s got that big blackboard in his house that we do the committee schedule on, and I thought it was a nice idea...”

The board instantly became half grocery list and half daily menu, announcing what was to be for lunch or dinner (whichever she’d volunteered for) and what they were running low on in the pantry. Dilan in particular found the board silly—“it’s not as if we’re running a restaurant”—but as it was both harmless and functional, he allowed its intrusion on the grounds that it would be taken away with her when she eventually left.

On day three, the first serious close call occurred, as over dinner Ama brought up that she’d done all the outstanding laundry and wound up with more clean sheets than there were beds to put them back on, in addition to a basketful of clothes that weren’t the right size for any of them. They managed to deflect her by claiming it was nothing of consequence, but the fact that she’d mentioned it at all was evidence of hitherto unsuspected powers of observation that worried them all to varying degrees.

On day four, everyone came down to breakfast to find the table laid out with a spread of the castle’s finest china and silverware, none of which had been useable the day prior.

“Isn’t all this lovely?” Ama asked, pleased. “Most of this was all in pieces, and I was going to get rid of it, but then I thought, you know, there’s a wizard in town. If he can conjure fireballs and all of that, then surely he can put plates back together. So I brought him a few freezer meals…”

This level of initiative was too much to ignore. They held an emergency meeting after she departed for town.

“It’s only a matter of time,” Even insisted. “The woman has absolutely no concept of minding her own business. What else is she going to dig up if we let her?”

“She’s surprisingly useful,” Ienzo said, admiring his new teacup. 

“Useful! Hah. And what happens when she finds out we were her precious brat’s mortal enemies, hm? Do all of you feel confident enough to take on a lynch mob?” He pointed a butter knife at the window, indicating the fledgling village below.

“‘Mortal enemies’ is a stretch, I think,” Dilan mused. “The boy did as he chose most of the time. We were only taking advantage of his natural instincts.”

“He killed you in battle! Is that not the  _ textbook _ definition of the concept?”

“I only meant,” said Dilan, annoyed, “that, supposing the woman does learn the truth, we might convince her that our business with Sora was simply a misunderstanding.”

“Hmph. You’re just happy to have another cook under the roof, I’ll bet.”

“And what if I am? You can’t expect me to be upset that my workload’s been halved suddenly.”

“No one forces you to do it.”

“No one but common sense. Unless you’ve forgotten how badly a meal went the last time  _ you _ took a hand in it?”

Even spluttered, but neither Aeleus nor Ienzo came to his defense. The pancake incident alone had been enough to get Vexen unofficially banned from the Kitchen That Never Was for years.

Ienzo reached for his coffee.

“You both have a point,” he told the table, with the slight air of authority he’d been forced to adopt since recompleting. If he wasn’t in charge in any official capacity, he’d at least become the  _ de facto  _ decision maker in their little group. “Things would be troublesome if she discovers the truth. However, she’s also made herself surprisingly handy in a short time. I think, as long as she’s willing to work as hard as she is for our benefit, it would be an advantage to keep her around.”

He let that sink in, setting down his cup with a clink.

“That being said...This castle has more than its fair share of secrets. We should keep a closer eye on her. If she goes exploring, someone should always accompany her, to steer her away from...certain places.”

Everyone agreed with the sense of this, but Ienzo did not expect to have to personally enforce his edict the very next day.

“Is there no committee meeting today?” he asked her, polishing off his by-now standard breakfast omelette. (Leona, the ill-tempered chicken, had earned the right to live in the courtyard for providing the eggs for this.) “Odd. I had thought that was where Aeleus and Dilan went.”

“There’s a meeting, but I’m sitting this one out. If I really power through it, I think I can finish cleaning the guest rooms today, and I’d like to cross that off my to-do list.”

“Guest rooms?” Ienzo asked, suddenly concerned.

“I mean the rest of the bedrooms in the south tower. I don’t know what they’re really called.” She hung a frying pan back up on the wall. “But you never know when you’re going to have company, so I thought it would be smart to keep a few beds ready. Why, with all this space, you could invite the whole town over if you wanted.”

This was very much not in the plan for any point in the future, but Ienzo refrained from saying so, instead finishing his omelette and weighing the odds that she would succeed in her bold venture and actually get through the whole rest of the tower. That would lead her a couple of floors up, in which case she would need to be...redirected.

“I’d be happy to lend you a hand, if you need it,” he said with expertly feigned magnanimity, setting his fork down.

Unfortunately he severely underestimated her work ethic. Two hours later Ienzo found himself leaning on a mop handle with soap suds spattering his pants and vest, sleeves rolled up, his lab coat long since abandoned in some room they’d already brought to order by scrubbing walls and dusting curtains, letting in sunlight, fitting fresh sheets on the bed. It was oddly strenuous labor, made more so by the fact that Ienzo hadn’t done such work for as long as he could remember. It wasn’t as if the Castle That Never Was had needed much tending to, and even when it did, they’d had a limitless supply of Dusks to do the job.

Still, Ienzo had to admit to himself that there was more than a little satisfaction in bringing order back to chaos, no matter how much elbow grease the task demanded. The twisted ruins of the once-proud castle really were beginning to look like people lived here again. 

“That ought to do it for this floor,” Ama was saying, “but I know there’s a few more rooms upstairs…”

“I’d rather we left that area alone,” Ienzo said, careful not to sound suspicious in his discouragement. “There’s nothing up there worth tending to. Even’s lab, a few storage closets…”

She apparently didn’t hear him, as her humming and cleaning had not slowed. He had to repeat the admonishment to be sure she’d gotten the message.

“You’re sure there aren’t any bedrooms up there? I was looking forward to getting the whole tower done and over with...”

“There’s plenty else around here that needs cleaning much more urgently,” Ienzo said, which was not untrue. “Has anyone given you a proper tour yet? There’s more to the castle than this wing, you know.”

Thankfully she took the bait, agreeing to a break that let him shepherd her back down to the castle’s lower levels and well away from the danger zone. She was easy to impress, and they spent a good ten minutes in the old kitchens alone, Ama admiring the cavernous ruins of what had once, long ago in the castle’s ancient history, been a hive of activity that could fit fifty cooks with ease. The kitchens, the library, the entrance hall, the stained glass near the disused lifts…

But to Ienzo’s dismay, Ama proved to be as stubborn as Sora, and only marginally more subtle about it. At one point she had the idea to ask where the computer lab was, since Leon and Cid had both mentioned it to her at meetings, and she wanted to have some notion of what they were talking about.

“Oh, you don’t have to turn it on,” she said brightly, when Ienzo insisted there was no need at all for the tour to include such expensive and delicate equipment. “I just wanted to know how to get there, in case I ever need to go. Leon was asking me something about it yesterday, in fact...”

Ienzo could not, of course, hide behind the notion that the lab was a forbidden secret, as the whole of the Restoration Committee knew all about it, and had mucked about in there quite frequently before the apprentices had recompleted. Thus he was forced, with well-concealed reluctance, to guide a chattering Ama down through the castle to one of its newer extensions, until they reached the round room that had at one time had been the master’s private study.

“The lab is accessible through here,” he told her, letting her peer inside, “if you ever need to visit it for committee reasons. But frankly, if that comes up, I insist you bring the matter to me or one of the others first. The lab is full of…” 

He paused, recalling the floor-to-ceiling chambers of the Heartless manufactory.

“...Delicate equipment. Of all sorts. So if Leon or anyone else ever needs access to the lab—”

He realized she had stepped inside the study.

“Ma’am? Are you listening?”

“Ooh, goodness. Who is  _ this  _ fellow?”

She was clearly not, having been drawn in by the gargantuan oil painting of apprentice Xehanort leaning against the far wall. It was certainly an eye-catching object, and it had also obviously not been tended to the way the rest of the room had. The wide gold frame was quite dusty, except in places where it had been touched, and dust had even settled into the brush strokes on the canvas, giving the portrait a milky, faded quality, as if looking through a dirty window.

Grimacing, Ienzo followed her inside, watching her inspect the outrageously large portrait with enthusiasm.

“A friend of yours, Ienzo?” Ama asked, looking between him and the painting. He realized she’d drawn a connection between their outfits despite his current lack of a lab coat, and frowned.

“I...wouldn’t say that, no. But I did...know him.” How much was safe to say? Perhaps he should simply lie and say it was a stranger, some distant ruler of years past...though of course the painting didn’t look nearly old enough for that to be so.

“Is he still in town? I wouldn’t mind an introduction if he is...”

“He isn’t here,” Ienzo said warily, not liking the tone of her voice.

“Oh, that’s too bad. Do you think he’ll pay a visit?”

“I suppose that’s...possible...”

“Is he single, by any chance? I can’t imagine he would be, but I guess there’s always hope...”

Ienzo balked, his mind refusing to wrap around the notion of Sora’s mother lusting after Xehanort. Ama did not notice his discomfort, still studying the portrait with her hands on her hips.

“This room looks like it’s been done over already,” she said, after giving the room a look-over, “but as long as we’re cleaning, we might as well hang this back up. I guess he goes here, then?” She had to back up to fully appreciate size of the enormous painting, and the outline of where it had hung for the many long years they’d been gone. “Hmm. It’s heavy...we’ll have to ask Aeleus to get him up there...”

“I’d rather we didn’t.”

Xehanort’s brown eyes seemed to look directly at Ienzo through the painting as he met their empty, distant gaze. Odd, to see them brown again. For so long they’d been such a bright, viciously bright gold.

“No? Well, I wouldn’t mind putting him in my room, then, if he can’t go in here. It’d certainly be a nice view to wake up to in the morning...”

She made a dreadfully intrigued little noise as she smiled at the portrait. It was too much. Ienzo snapped.

“This is a picture of Xehanort,” he said sharply.

Immediately he regretted the outburst, but to his surprise, Ama did not look appropriately horrified. Surprised, certainly, but not horrified.

“Xehanort? Really? I never would have guessed.” She tilted her head and frowned hard, as if the portrait had acquired a new dimension. “Then again, I’ve never seen him, so I wouldn’t know either way. Why is there a painting of him here, of all places?”

“He spent some time in Radiant Garden.” It was the simplest thing to say, and more importantly, he had no lie to replace it that was believable enough to hold water for long. “No one knew who he really was, of course. But he made a...strong impression, while he was here. The portrait was a gift to him, from someone else.”

“I see.” She rested her hand on her cheek, studying the portrait with fresh concern. “Well, he’s certainly a handsome devil, isn’t he? I didn’t realize...”

They contemplated him together, though Ama’s brow furrowed deeper the longer she thought, as if something were occurring to her.

“Hold on, though...This can’t be Xehanort, can it? Not the real one.”

“Pardon?”

“He’s an old man, isn’t he? The original Xehanort—the Keyblade master. So this has to be one of the other ones.” She pressed a thumb to her forehead, trying to squeeze out one of the relevant names she’d been forced to memorize lately. “Is this...Xemnas? Or...that other one, his Heartless...Oh, hang on.”

She rummaged in a pocket, pulling out a scrap of paper and unfolding it to reveal a handwritten diagram of some kind that she skimmed with a thoughtful frown.

“Xemnas and Ansem,” she read, then gestured to the portrait with the paper. “Is this either of those two? Or one of the others? I’m not sure how old the rest of them are, but there’s also...let’s see here...Iza? Saiks?”

Ienzo could not help but appreciate the bizarre pragmatism of carrying around an emergency reference guide to Xehanort.

“You keep a list?” he asked warily.

“Oh, yes.” She folded the paper back up and tucked it away. “I’m not the best with names, so as soon as Sora explained about Xehanort, I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep it all straight to save my life. I had the kids go through it a couple of times and wrote everything down.”

She patted the pocket that held the list, which rustled, as if there were other papers in it too.

“So, which one is this, then?”

Ienzo gazed up at the portrait. There were several correct answers.

“We’ve been told,” he said at last, “that this is actually someone named Terra. I think you’ve heard of him.”

“Oh! That poor boy that Xehanort kidnapped. Aqua’s friend. This is him?”

“Supposedly.” Ienzo’s tone was oddly crisp, as if he were choosing every word with care. “Though he wasn’t ‘kidnapped,’ strictly speaking. We’ve heard his heart and body were appropriated by Master Xehanort, and he became...this person.”

“That sounds an awful lot like kidnap to me.”

Ama reached out and touched the oil painting, running a hand down it, smearing away some of the dust on Xehanort’s face. Ienzo was reminded of Aqua, who had done something similar on her brief visit upon learning that the portrait existed. There had been mixed emotions in the young master’s gaze then as she studied what her friend had become. Sadness and guilt, yes, but also an iron will that had radiated off of her like low heat, the strength of heart that had carried her through the long dark of an isolation that would have driven most to despair. Contemplating Terra-Xehanort’s portrait in her reclaimed armor, Aqua had looked like a general, young and unready but unbreakably resolute, scrutinizing the enemy’s plans.

“You poor thing,” Sora’s mother said. Her fingertips on the canvas spread outward, letting her press her whole palm to the portrait, as if blessing it. “You just keep holding on, wherever you are. We’ll get you home. Sora and his friends will help you.”

The memory of Aqua faded. Now Ama reminded Ienzo of Sora, not through a physical resemblance (though that was certainly there), but in some intangible quality that shone from just beneath the surface. Ienzo hadn’t ever interacted with Sora directly, but as Zexion he’d seen enough. The Organization had taken immediate notice when a boy with a Keyblade had started blundering through the worlds, and even from afar Sora had been puzzling in his generosity, lending aid anywhere it was needed without hesitation, heedless of the risks. It had been amusing to observe his antics, for the boy’s heroism had been laughable to Zexion, Sora striving to help anyone he met with no expectation of a reward—neither in power consolidated nor in favors owed.

Now, in Ama’s pity for a dusty painting, Ienzo had a glimpse of some of the substrate beneath Sora’s happy-go-lucky exterior, the lessons that had gone into his upbringing. Here was one reason why the boy with the Keyblade knew how to love so freely and so hard.

Ama let her hand fall.

“It doesn’t seem right to get rid of it,” she said, “but maybe we should at least cover it up. Don’t you think so?”

She looked to him for confirmation. Ienzo answered Ama without looking at her, still staring at the portrait.

“Perhaps...that’s for the best. Yes.”

They found an old set of sheets thick enough to do the job, each holding a corner and throwing them around the portrait frame. Xehanort’s dark eyes seemed to burn at them through the fabric as it settled over the painting, fluttering at the edges.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re wondering when the plot will kick in, the answer is “never,” in a way. This AU intentionally focuses on all the mundane, ridiculous bullshit that the minor characters get up to in Sora’s absence. But I will admit that I have the whole thing planned out already, and that this story is the first of four that lead up to the final battle. And while the conflict with Xehanort will always take place offscreen, all the main characters do eventually become involved with the shenanigans in Radiant Garden (when they aren’t busy off doing The Plot). All in good time.

****Her first encounter with the infamous Heartless didn’t happen until she’d been in Radiant Garden for a week. In the middle of a spitballing session at Merlin’s house, Yuffie burst through the door, panting.

“Guys, we’ve got trouble! Big Heartless down by the old fountain! Two of ‘em!”

Leon grabbed his gunblade from against the wall and was gone, yelling orders. Everyone else followed, and quite suddenly Ama, Merlin, and Cid were the only three left in the house. Merlin placidly stirred his tea while Cid stopped cycling through half-finished blueprints on the computer, pulling up a command prompt menu instead. He fished in his pocket for a fresh toothpick.

“What’s going on?” Ama asked, getting up from the table. Merlin blew on his tea.

“The Heartless are as active as ever, it sounds like. Botheration...I’d say that security program’s starting to show its limits! This is the second incident since Wednesday, if I’m not mistaken.”

“If the Claymore system’s gettin’ laggy,” said Cid, “it sure ain’t my fault. Code’s airtight n’ waterproof. But all those spells you put on it, well, who knows how long they’ll stay good…”

They bickered as Ama stuck her head out the door, peering up the street. She couldn’t see anything amiss, but apparently other people could, for everyone else was hustling to retreat inside, locking doors and slamming windows.

“Wouldn’t go out there if I were you, lady,” Cid warned, not looking up from the computer. “If we got some big Heartless around, they’ll summon a buncha little ones too. Just hang tight ‘til the coast is clear.”

She was, of course, already outside, cautiously drifting up the road towards the distant sounds of battle coming from the old fountain courtyard on the other end of the settlement. She kept close to the front of the cottages as she passed, like an inexperienced thief sneaking about in broad daylight. Every once in awhile, the explosion-like sound of magic being cast confirmed she was headed in the right direction.

For all the tales she’d heard about Sora’s endless run-ins with the Heartless, and for as often as the subject came up at committee meetings, Ama had never actually seen them with her own eyes. The chance to get even a faraway glimpse of the monsters was an educational opportunity she couldn’t resist, and halfway up the street she paused, gauging the intensity of the battle, or what she could hear of it at this distance.

The commotion was just loud enough to keep her from hearing the chorus of metallic clinking until it was quite close, and suddenly a group of people in metal helmets rounded the corner up ahead. Ama hesitated, then recoiled, backing away and flattening herself against the door of the nearest house.

They weren’t people—they couldn’t be. No person could move that way, twitching and jittering with every step, and the half-dozen helmeted Soldiers flailed as they clattered down the deserted street. The shadows they cast seethed beneath them, and soon the shadows broke away to reveal themselves as yet more strange creatures with glowing yellow eyes. These smaller ones headed for a narrow alleyway between the nearest two buildings, as if wanting to shield themselves from the sunlight.

Above Ama’s head, someone in a house threw a fireball at the Soldiers from a second-story window, but it missed, scuffing the pavement instead.

Ama began backing up the way she’d come, but the movement only drew the armored creatures’ attention to her. Shining eyes bored into her like searchlights. The Soldier at the front of the pack changed course, making for her, its gait erratic in a way that sent goosebumps up the back of her neck.

“Get—get back, you!” she yelled.

The Soldier rattled forward, flexing its long-nailed hands. Ama stooped and grabbed a fist-sized chunk of stone from the pavement, her knuckles white.

“Get _back!”_

She lobbed the rock. It ricocheted off of the Soldier’s tarnished helmet, making a loud _clang_ like a bell being rung but doing nothing to stop it lumbering towards her. The rest of the Soldiers shifted their trajectory, following their leader.

“I’m—I’m warning you all! Stay away! Or else I’ll...”

“What in blazes are you doing down there, woman?”

A violent gust of wind threw all the Soldiers against the pavement before they got halfway across the street. The source of it jumped down from the rooftops, landing with surprising grace. A half-dozen floating lances followed him down, like iron filings pulled in the wake of a magnet.

“Dilan! Oh, goodness. I didn’t see you up there.”

“You’re lucky I was chasing these. Stand clear!”

The Heartless recovered. A Soldier lunged at them both in a whirling kick-spin, a huge toy sent flying by an invisible hand, but it didn’t get anywhere near them—Dilan wordlessly skewered it with a floating lance. The rest of the lances pointed themselves in different directions, taking aim at the rest of the mob. Ama couldn’t seem to decide what to look at, and her attention darted between the sharp edges of all the lances hovering overhead, and the creatures flailing about on the other side of the street.

“Dilan, are these things—the Heartless?”

Another Soldier exploded in a flurry of darkness, impaled by a lance.

“Of course these are the Heartless. What did you suppose they were? A circus troupe?”

He set to work disposing of the rest of the clanking Soldiers, bursts of wind and hovering blades picking them off one by one without forcing him to move from his stationary position. Each time he destroyed one, there was a harsh shriek of metal on stone as the lances embedded into the ground. He caught a couple of lances in one hand, holding them at his side, as if prepared to throw them like javelins if needed.

“Why didn’t you stay inside?” he demanded, without looking over his shoulder. Ama edged forward.

“I wanted to see the Heartless for myself. I’ve never seen any of them before...only heard stories.”

Dilan muttered something under his breath.

The handful of Soldiers had been annihilated, but there were plenty of Shadows left, huddled together beside a rain barrel set against the house across the street. One of the Shadows flattened itself into the pavement and slid forward before popping up closer to them both, its antennae wiggling as it crept forward, an oversized ant sniffing its way towards picnic crumbs. It made for Ama, and she squatted down to get a better look at it as it inched closer.

“Well, now you've seen the Heartless,” said Dilan, annoyed. “Are you satisfied?”

“They're certainly...something.” Ama watched the Shadow approach her, her brow furrowed. “This little thing here...Is it a Heartless too? Or is it something different? It’s a lot cuter than those other ones.”

“Don’t be facetious. The things aren’t _cute.”_

“Look at it, though! Look at its little face.”

The Shadow melted down into the paving stones, drifting like a pool of spilled ink before reemerging on her right, so close that she could have stretched out and touched it if she leaned forward far enough. Dilan scowled, keeping his attention on the rest of the Shadows still seething in a ball.

“Keep well back,” he told Ama. He concentrated on the Shadow nest, repositioning each of the floating lances as he calculated the best strike angles. “The Heartless are ferocious, whatever their appearance.”

Ama watched the solitary Shadow wave its antennae at her feet. After some internal debate, she leaned forward and carefully poked it in the head with one finger. Its skin—did they have skin?—felt squishy, but utterly without warmth, like an octopus.

The Shadow pounced.

Tiny claws sliced the back of her hand open, leaving a row of little gouges that streamed blood, as though a row of razor blades had been slashed across her skin. She cried out, and at the same time a hand grabbed the back of her shirt and roughly hauled her to her feet, so that the Shadow’s next lunge missed clamping onto her face. The tip of a lance pinned the Shadow into the ground like a bug onto corkboard.

 _“Are you mad?_ You can’t pet the blasted things!”

Green-tinged magic washed over the cuts, and Dilan stormed away, leaving Ama pale and blinking, clutching her bloody but now abruptly unwounded hand. As Dilan impaled the remaining Shadows two and three at a time, Ama pulled herself together and backed away under the eaves, taking deep breaths and wiping the rivulets of blood off of her forearm with a handkerchief.

“Silly me.” She forced a shaky smile, and pressed the back of her hand with a thumb, trying to numb the phantom pain. “I didn’t see where it had claws…”

“They’ve claws and teeth and worse,” Dilan snapped, “and where there’s one, there’s always more.”

He sent lances raining into the core of the Shadow nest, scattering them like roaches and stabbing each one with irritated precision, like someone yanking up familiar, stubborn weeds by the handful. In half a minute he’d destroyed all of them, and paced back and forth across the street in anticipation of more, stopping only when a quick scouting trip to the rooftops convinced him that there were no Heartless remaining in the immediate area. He landed beside her with surprising grace, the wind catching him readily, like a friend.

“Are they gone?” Ama asked. “Is...Was that all of them?”

“All of them? I doubt it. But the small breeds are weak-willed. They’ll retreat once Aeleus and the others deal with the ones that called them here.”

He looked up the empty street towards the sounds of battle still audible in the near distance. Ama expected him to take to the roof again and disappear, but instead he turned to her, glaring.

“Let that be a lesson, and keep your distance from the Heartless in the future. Unless you’ve an interest in becoming one yourself.” He eyed her hand. “As a matter of fact, I’ll see you back to the castle. I expect the committee meeting’s adjourned in any case.”

“Oh, Dilan, you don’t have to do—”

“I don’t trust you to get there without incident. There might still be Heartless around. Follow me, and closely.”

His brusque tone made it an order instead of a request, and he set off towards the sloping side street that was the most straightforward route back to the castle. Ama hesitated, then steadied herself and hurried after him. Evidently the other residents shared Dilan’s assessment of the potential danger, because all of the windows and doors remained firmly shut, and no one peeked out at them as they passed.

The half-paved street climbed sharply enough that Ama had to push herself to keep up with Dilan’s determined stride. After a minute, they’d gained enough height to see over most of the rest of the settlement, and Dilan paused to gaze in the direction of the old fountain courtyard. Leon and the others’ battle was only visible as the occasional burst of fire or lightning or whatever else rising above the level of the rooftops, but the spells were not coming nearly as frequently as they had been.

“Do you need to go help the others?” Ama asked him.

“No, I think not. They have the situation well in hand.” He glared at her. “What the devil possessed you just now? That was beyond careless. You should have stayed out of sight.”

“I wanted to get a look at them for myself. The Heartless, I mean.” She had been unconsciously toying with her bloodstained handkerchief, and suddenly noticed, forcing herself to fold it and put it away. Faint pink stains remained on her palms. “Those monsters...Do they really eat people’s hearts?”

“Hmph. Yes. Did you doubt it all this time?”

“No, I didn't. I just hadn’t really realized…”

She trailed off. The evidence of the distant battle grew momentarily more animated, and they watched a spurt of flame shoot upwards and then vanish as quickly as it had appeared. After it came a sudden quiet from that direction. Apparently that had been the decisive blow.

“Dilan, can the Heartless...kill people? The…‘ordinary’ way, I guess you’d say. The way animals can.”

“Can they kill? Yes—and easily. But they’d sooner devour your heart, and turn you into one of their own. I had thought you knew that much.”

He frowned harder, but she didn’t notice, lost in her own thoughts as she stared out across the houses. Gently she rubbed the back of her hand against her side, as though the disappeared wound itched.

“Sora said...that happened to him once. He was telling me that one time, he turned into a Heartless, when he and Kairi were both—”

“If your boy’s told you half of all that’s happened to him on his journeys,” Dilan interrupted, his tone sharp, “one would think you’d have sense enough to give the Heartless a wide berth. Apparently not.”

Ama actually looked chastised. She held up her fist, studying the unblemished spot on the back of her hand where the Shadow’s claws had raked her skin.

“I’m sorry, Dilan. But can you blame me for being curious?”

“I can. If I had munny for every ounce of trouble that being curious about the Heartless has caused, I’d have been wealthier than McDuck a decade ago already.” He shook his head, his long hair rattling. “If you’re really so keen to learn about the infernal things, you’re welcome to ask either of our resident scientists. Even could talk your ear off on the subject, and happily at that. But don’t go investigating the Heartless on your own. You’re luckier than many if all you know of them are secondhand tales.”

He closed the discussion by turning and continuing up the hillside, following the remains of the shattered road that led up towards the towering castle.

Ama tried asking questions while they walked, but Dilan made a point of pretending not to hear, and she soon lapsed into thoughtful silence. Eventually the slope of the broken road eased as they reached the base of the castle hilltop, bringing them to the edge of what had once been some of the castle grounds. The old gardens, once sprawling and well-tended, had long since been turned to a pile of rubble by all the chaos the world had suffered, and the only hint of their former splendor was a few feeble wildflowers and clumps of withered grass clinging timidly to life between churned-up slabs of stone. Dilan slowed enough for Ama to finally catch up.

“I hope you’ve learned a lesson,” he told her. “Don’t underestimate the Heartless. If you ever encounter them again, flee at once. Is that clear?”

“I—Yes. I will.”

“Do you swear it?”

“Swear?”

“I’d rather have your word on it, if your word’s worth anything. You need to grasp that you aren’t on your cozy little islands any longer. Whatever sense of safety you’re accustomed to means nothing here, and your own strength is all you can rely on.” He appraised her, scowling. “And as to that: you’ve no strength, no skill with weapons, and can’t cast a single spell. You’re the easiest prey the Heartless could ever hope to hunt.”

“I...didn’t think about it like that...”

“Clearly not.” He snorted. “For all our sakes, do your best to stay out of trouble. It’s not only your own skin you’re liable for now.”

“What do you mean?”

They reached one of the twisted, rust-coated gates that still blocked the crumbled pathway. With a grunt, Dilan wrested it open wider, the shattered hinges whining.

“Do you really think Sora would have nothing to say if you came to harm under our noses? Even if it were your own doing, the boy wouldn’t hesitate to blame us.”

“Oh, Dilan, Sora’s not like that. He wouldn’t blame you for something I got myself into.”

“If you were torn to pieces by the Heartless? I very well think he might.”

The gate’s hinges screeched horribly, punctuating his words.

They passed into the remnants of an inner courtyard that abutted the small side entrance to the castle they used most often, and Leona came trotting over to investigate their return, skittering off in a huff when no tasty treats fell her way. Ama stopped before they reached the door.

“Thank you for earlier, Dilan,” she said, and meant it. “For rescuing me, I mean.”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘rescue.’ They were weaklings, hardly worth the effort. But don’t make me do it again.”

He disappeared into the castle, but Ama did not follow right away. Instead she stayed in the courtyard and gazed back out over the town, or as much as she could see of it from this angle, watching public activity cautiously resume now that the threat had passed. At her feet, Leona pecked for bugs in the crevices between the jumbled and weed-cracked paving stones.

An odd, sinking feeling overcame her, as thought a brick had been delicately laid into place inside her heart, leaving a small but measurable weight. The foundation of that weight had been Sora’s original homecoming, meeting Donald and Goofy, and the endless fantastical tales that had filled in all the gaps about Sora’s time away. Then the next layer of weight had been meeting everyone else, Mickey and Yen Sid and Leon, each new encounter confirming even the most outlandish or horrible of the stories. And now…

Now, she had some small personal experience with which to corroborate the danger Sora so blithely dove headfirst into. To hear all about monsters was one thing, but to see them herself was another. It wasn’t that she hadn’t believed what he’d told her; faith in Sora had forced her to believe in a dizzying array of things that she would never have dreamed up on her own. It was more that actually seeing the Heartless made the thousand other things she knew about a little more tangible—and thus a little more sobering.

She held up her hand against the sky, looking for the scar that by all rights ought to be there. But there was nothing.

* * *

It did not occur to her that Dilan’s earlier suggestion might not have been sincere, and she acted on it as soon as possible. She did, however, have enough foresight to disguise the intrusion as a favor.

“What did I tell you about coming in here without permission?” Even demanded, when she stuck her head into his cluttered workroom.

“I knocked, but I don’t think you heard me.” She set the tray down on the edge of the desk, carefully elbowing a stack of papers out of the way. “Ienzo said you’ve been in here all day.”

“And what if I have?”

“Well, you didn’t come down to breakfast, and it’s past noon.” She started unloading the tray. “So I made you a little something to keep you going. You’re not going to get much work done if you’re hungry.”

Even looked torn between displeasure and temptation. He stared at the array of open-faced sandwiches on toast, selecting one and holding it up to a dust-filled sunbeam for scrutiny. It passed inspection, and he took a bite.

“Thank you,” he grumbled. “But don’t make a habit of it, if you please. This is a laboratory, not a cafeteria.”

She had already wandered away to admire a shelf of scientific paraphernalia with the curiosity of a child at a museum exhibit. Even watched her intently, ready to spring into action if she dared to cause the slightest disturbance.

“Do you need me to dust in here?” she asked, without looking over her shoulder. “It’s a little bit messy…”

 _“No,_ no, certainly not. Don’t touch anything.” He reshuffled the hodgepodge of notes papering the surface of the table. “I’ve ordered this room precisely how I like it. Don’t ever come rummaging about in here, do you understand?”

He glared, one eye narrowing in that bizarre squint he often did, but she did not see it, as she had bent down to peer through various pieces of glassware arranged haphazardly along a lower shelf.

“Are you going to hang about all afternoon? I’m quite busy, you know.”

“I was going to take the tray back to the kitchen when you’re finished. Or is it all right to leave it here?”

Even frowned at the tray, then at her, then back at the tray.

“All right,” he decided. “But in the future, don’t come barging in here without advance notice.”

He fussed over the remaining sandwiches, picking off toppings here and there that didn’t suit his fancy.

“Incidentally,” he added, “I suppose there’s been no word about when you might be _leaving_ us? Hm?”

“Not yet. I asked Aerith yesterday if anyone has a spare room open, and a couple of people do, but honestly, I want to wait for somewhere with a decent yard. I’m so used to having a garden, I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have the space. Actually, I started digging up a corner of the courtyard. I think I can get some tomatoes going if I can get a bed cleared out, but it’s going to take a while…”

Even had stopped listening at the first sentence and was instead making impatient headway on his lunch. He sunk into his own thoughts, chewing grumpily, and only pulled himself back to the present when Ama spoke again.

“I know you're busy, Even, but if you have a minute...I wanted to talk to you about something. Dilan told me you’d be the best person to ask.”

“He did, did he? Dare I ask what it is you’re curious about today?”

“The Heartless.”

Even hesitated, then picked up another piece of toast. Mild but genuine interest tempered his annoyance.

“The Heartless? Hmph. A topical subject, I’ll concede. But what is there to explain? Surely you’re aware of the basics?”

“I am. I just...want to understand it a little better, I guess. I finally got a look at them for myself.”

She pulled out a stool and sat diagonally across from him at the desk, pouring them both green tea. Even balked, but did not have the nerve to actually drive her away, and assuaged himself by making a renewed attack on the food. He picked up a small cup of miso soup and downed it in one gulp, as though it were liquor.

“What is it that you don’t understand about the Heartless?” he asked her. “Their underlying physiology is quite straightforward. Seek hearts, consume them, and in so doing create more Heartless. In that respect they’re no different than any other invasive species.”

Ama seemed to have poured the tea mostly as a social gesture, and did not drink hers, instead holding it gently and watching Even pick over the assorted half-sandwiches.

“It’s just a hard thing to understand,” she admitted. “Turning into a monster, getting your heart eaten...It’s not like anything I’ve ever heard of, outside of books or fairy tales.”

“One world’s fairy tales are another world’s facts.” Even tugged a handful of papers free from where they’d been pinned beneath the metal tray, setting them out of reach of any potential tea spills. “But yes, the chief threat of the Heartless is their ability to selectively consume the heart. Normally a being’s heart can’t be extracted without special equipment, such as a Keyblade. The process is uncommon, or used to be.”

“What do you suppose it’s like? Turning into a Heartless like that?”

Ama rested her chin on her fist, a finger on her other hand idly tracing the rim of her steaming teacup. Her usual bubbly chatter had grown rather subdued.

“I’ve been thinking about it, and I think...I _think_ something like that happened to me once. If that’s possible. Sora and Riku said that the night they left the islands, the night of that storm...our world was taken by darkness. I think the Heartless were part of that.”

This admission caught Even’s attention. He sat up straighter, reaching for a pen.

“Interesting. You were caught up in your world’s collapse, then?”

“That’s what Sora and Riku told me. I’ve tried to remember it, but I don’t, really. Just a bad storm one night.” There were other memories attached to that night, things that had come back to her in later nightmares, but of these she said nothing. “But Sora said our whole world was gone, for...oh, I don’t know, a year or so. It didn’t seem like it. All I remember is waking up the next morning feeling...strange. Honestly, if I hadn’t seen so many things since Sora came home with the Keyblade, I don’t know if I’d believe it.”

Even brushed toast crumbs from a sheaf of papers and set them aside, finding beneath them a logbook with enough blank pages to suit him. He thumbed through it.

“Well, if you’re concerned about whether you became a Heartless yourself at that time, I’d say it’s very unlikely. You were restored along with your world, were you not? So you were simply taken along with it into the darkness—heart and all. If you’d actively become a Heartless, then it’s likely you’d still be one today.”

“I see.” She rested her chin in her hand, still frowning. “Is it...like dying, then? Losing your heart? The way Sora described it...”

“Theoretically, one can live on,” Even said, “without one’s heart. But that’s quite a rare circumstance. Obviously it’s very different to biological death, but in the vast majority of cases the analogy isn't completely misguided, since the physical body disappears.”

“And if it doesn't disappear, you become a...a Nobody. Is that the right word? I know it’s something simple like that. I wrote it down...”

Surprise crossed Even’s face, quickly suppressed, as Ama rummaged in her pockets briefly before realizing the appropriate notes weren’t with her.

“That’s correct,” said Even warily. “You’re aware of that concept?”

“Just barely. Sora did his best to explain it it to me once, but I didn’t really get what he meant. Seeing the Heartless, though...It’s making me think about all that again. Everything he told me about what happened.”

Even picked up another open-faced sandwich, made as if to bite into it, then stopped himself, squinting harder as a thought occurred to him.

“What... _exactly_ did Sora tell you about Nobodies? It’s a very...complicated subject...”

“Hardly anything. But that’s why I wanted to ask someone who understands it better. What Sora told me…” She turned her teacup around in her hands. “It’s not that I don’t believe him. I do. And Riku and Kairi said the same thing too. But it’s just such a strange story.”

“What story was this, now?”

She studied the whorls of steam lazily drifting up from her tea. The lone shaft of sunlight that managed to sift through the windows projected uneven patterns onto the floor and paper-strewn desk, thin lines drawn by the many cracks in the window glass.

“Before he left again, when he first came home and was telling me everything, Sora said there used to be this...boy.”

She spoke slowly, as if trying to make sure she was recalling the right details without her notes to aid her.

“Sora became a Heartless once, for a little while. I understand that part. But he also said that somehow, becoming a Heartless like that created this...this other him. His ‘Nobody,’ he called him. His name is Roxas. Or...was. I don’t know if he’s still...alive? Is that the right word?” She mused. “I guess I understand it in a general way—that everyone has a heart, and the Heartless take their hearts, and sometimes that makes a Nobody. But it all sounded so...technical, I suppose, when I first heard about it. When Sora talked about Roxas, though, it was different. He was so adamant that Roxas had been different than him, somehow. He'd had his own life, his own feelings…”

She rubbed her temple.

“I think Roxas is real, or at least he was. Sora and Riku both said they met him. And then Sora said that he’s ‘with’ him again now. But I don’t know what that means, exactly, or…” She dropped her hand, still frowning. “Oh, I don’t know. Some days I worry I’ll drive myself crazy trying to get my head around all of this. All those Xehanorts are one thing—he’s just some man I’ve never met. Anything they tell me about him, I just have to believe, no matter how outrageous it is. But Sora...I _know_ Sora. I raised him. And then he comes and tells me he has a...a twin, I guess you could say?”

Ama refilled Even’s teacup, stifling another sigh.

“I just don’t understand as well as I’d like to, that’s all. I was hoping you could explain. You know about all these sorts of things, don’t you? The Heartless, and all of that?”

“I do.” He jotted something down in his notebook. “The idea of a Nobody being a ‘twin’ isn’t correct, but perhaps it’s a useful metaphor in this one instance. Normally it’s impossible for a Nobody and their prior form to coexist, but Sora maintained his own sense of self even after becoming a Heartless. It’s a phenomenon I’ve only observed in...one other case. The case of Xehanort, actually, which is an excessively complicated one. I’d say that Sora has proved himself to be a very interesting specimen.”

“So you think he's right about Roxas?”

“Yes. Though if Sora’s reabsorbed him, then ultimately there isn’t much to learn from the situation. He is gone.” Even regarded her. “Unless you’re concerned that Roxas is affecting Sora’s mental state?”

“Do I need to be?”

“I couldn’t say. A reunion like Sora and Roxas’s has never been observed before. But if Roxas was fully independent, then there is a chance, however small, that some part of him could linger on inside of Sora. If so, there might be an observable effect on Sora’s behavior.”

“I haven’t noticed anything different,” Ama said at once, as Even finished off the tea. “He’s the same as he always was. Well...maybe a little more responsible nowadays...but not as much as I would’ve guessed. Honestly, I’m glad Donald and Goofy are there to look after him. Riku and Kairi too.”

She realized that the food had been all but demolished, and instinctively began stacking all the empty cups and plates back onto the tray. Even pushed his chair back from the desk.

“Well, if Roxas is what you were truly curious about,” he said, “you’ll have to interrogate your son the next time you see him. _I_ can’t draw any conclusions without sufficient data, and I haven't had nearly enough time to observe Sora directly.” He cleared a free space on his desk after she picked up the serving tray. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have rather a lot of work to get back to.”

“Oh. Well...I guess I’ll leave you to it, then...”

She lingered, waiting for the faint disappointment in her voice to trigger his obligatory change of heart, but years of polite small-town living had taught her many social graces that simply didn’t apply in this strange new world. Instead Even dove headlong into his work without paying her any more attention, and after standing there awkwardly for a few seconds, Ama finally left, realizing that perhaps she’d have to coax information out of him in small doses going forward unless he was in a particularly good mood.

Instead of returning downstairs the same way she came, she took the opposite direction up the corridor, absorbed enough in her own pondering that it took her a bit to realize her mistake. When she did, however, she didn’t change course. This was one area of the castle she hadn’t been to yet, and it showed; nothing had been washed, and only a footpath through the dust proved that anyone came here at all. She'd have to come up here with a mop when she had the chance...

The end of the gloomy corridor soon came into view. Ama stopped, realizing there was not (as she’d assumed) another staircase at this end of the hall. But there was something else: a light, faint but noticeable, and oddly low to the ground, as if someone had left a lamp on the floor.

Ama stared at it, uneasy. It reminded her of the glowing yellow eyes of the Heartless.

Her pulse quickened at the thought, and she stared harder. The light didn’t move at all...or did it? It was hard to tell from this far away.

But she was being silly. It couldn’t possibly be a Heartless, could it? She steeled herself and headed towards it, careful not to rattle the dishes on the tray.

Of course it was nothing as dangerous (or interesting) as a stray Heartless. The light turned out to be coming from under the door of the very furthest room in the hall—and oddly brightly, too, as if all the lights in that one room were turned on and the windows uncovered. The warm glow fanning out onto the floor of the otherwise dim, dusty corridor looked like spilled paint.

She had nearly set the tray down on the ground when Even reached her.

 _“What_ are you sneaking around down here for?”

He stormed up, his lab coat flapping, one hand brandishing a piece of toast and the other holding an empty teacup she’d forgotten in the lab.

“What is this about? Off with you, at once. This is a restricted area, do you realize that?”

“Restricted?”

“Yes.” He plonked the teacup onto the tray. “I had thought someone had told you that already.”

“Are you all using this room for something?” she asked, puzzled. “Because if you are, I’m sure it could do with some cleaning. I’ve done every other room in this wing already, downstairs. I wouldn’t mind coming up here too.”

“The spirit of the offer is appreciated, but no. As I said, this area is strictly off-limits.”

“Why?”

“That’s none of your concern.” He jabbed at her with the piece of toast. “That is to say...It’s full of highly important...equipment. And other things. Things which under _no_ _circumstances_ are to be disturbed in any way, shape, or form, is that clear?”

He seemed to realize all of a sudden that he was, in fact, still holding toast, and glared at it before eating half in one bite, speaking around it.

“Of course, a pedestrian mind such as yours could hardly comprehend the kind of work being done here. Which makes it all the more imperative that you keep to yourself and avoid coming into contact with anything that might be—shall we say, adversely affected by outside influences.”

A brief, muffled noise from inside the room startled them both, as if something heavy had fallen to the floor and clattered away.

“Equipment,” Even insisted, while she looked curiously at the door. “Spare parts. Old systems. Nothing you should concern yourself with in the slightest.”

“Are you...sure everything's all right? It sounded like something broke just now...”

“If it did, we’ll deal with it later.”

The light coming from under the door shifted in intensity, like sunlight being obscured by clouds. No additional noises presented themselves, however, and Even made an irritated noise, turning away.

“Surely you haven’t forgotten the way back?” he asked over his shoulder. “At the _other_ end of the hall?”

“Oh—no, it’s all right. I thought there were more stairs down this way, that’s all.”

He swept away, muttering, his white lab coat making him look like a billowing ghost in the dimly-lit hallway. While his back was turned, Ama balanced the tray in one hand and quietly tried the door handle. It was locked.


	6. Chapter 6

“How often is _more often_ , exactly?” Even was asking, between bites of one of Ama’s scones.

As happened about once a week by coincidence, the apprentices were breakfasting together, Even and Ienzo and Aeleus at the table while Dilan drank coffee and manned the stove. Even was talking, and no one was really listening—all as usual.

“I don’t like the sound of it, frankly. Two large Heartless spawning in the span of a few days? It seems as if they’re becoming more active...a troubling notion. If the creatures overrun the town’s security system, their instincts will eventually drive them to seek out the heart of the world itself. Which, need I remind you all, is around here somewhere, in the castle.”

“Mm...That would be a problem,” Ienzo mused. He was only half paying attention, reading the single-page broadsheet that an enterprising settler had started distributing in the absence of a real newspaper.

Even reached for another scone. Instead of drizzling honey over it, he picked up the honey pot and dunked it in whole.

 _“A problem_ indeed. The Keyhole’s still sealed, but that will only throw the Heartless off the scent for so long. This building’s in need of enough repair without an infestation running amok, and we’d have to deal with them daily, at the worst. Hardly an inviting prospect on top of all our other concerns.”

“We don’t know whether the Heartless are really getting stronger,” Aeleus pointed out. “It might be a coincidence.”

“It might, yes. But with as much as we’ve observed the creatures all these years, I’m wary that any such ‘coincidence’ could indicate the beginnings of a trend. And if that’s the case, I’m not confident that that defense program of the committee’s can keep them in check forever. If the preponderance of darkness in the realm of light increases by any significant amount, then the Heartless are sure to grow more powerful and numerous, too—regardless of whatever precautions are in place locally. Sooner or later, it’s bound to become an issue for us.”

The door flew open, making Even drop his scone onto the table.

“Good morning, everyone! Are the scones all right? Not too chewy? I hadn’t used that recipe before, so I wasn’t sure about the texture. Do you all mind if I borrow a couple of lightbulbs? I need to give them to the chicken, she’s being _so_ fussy—”

Ama disappeared as abruptly as she’d come, not even waiting for an answer, but no one reacted to her intrusion in any case. Such interruptions had happened often enough lately that the four of them were mostly desensitized, like actors who’d learned to tune out the distraction of a noisy stagehand running back and forth behind the stage. Even grumbled and wiped honey off of the table, Ienzo flipped his broadsheet over to read the other side, and Aeleus poured himself more coffee. At the stove, Dilan scooped a fresh omelette onto a plate that had been set on a tray, throwing a few strips of bacon into the pan after it.

Even finished his scone, then frowned at the sprinkles of dirt tracing Ama’s path across the kitchen, evidence of the new gardening project she’d been tackling out in the courtyard.

“Our guest is getting nosier, you know,” he told the others. “Have any of you noticed? She even had the audacity to come ask me about Roxas, of all things. Granted, one can understand why she’d be interested in that particular subject, but it’s unsettling nonetheless.”

“Roxas?” Ienzo was surprised enough to glance up from his reading. “She doesn’t know we knew him, surely?”

“I think not. It was a technical question—general principles.” Even accidentally put his elbow onto the sticky spot on the table, and jerked it away, scowling. “She was trying to come to grips with his existence, temporary though it was. Obviously it’s difficult for her to comprehend that her son essentially created a duplicate of himself, for...Dilan, how long did Roxas end up existing?”

“A year, give or take,” Dilan reported, still frying bacon.

“For a year, then.” Even stirred the last of his coffee. “Really, it’s almost a pity that he returned to Sora. He would have made an absolutely fascinating case study. What was he like, in general? I had planned to observe him closely for scientific reasons, but of course _certain circumstances_ intervened...”

Dilan shrugged as he rescued all of the bacon pieces that had gotten sufficiently crispy.

“Roxas? Hrm...A competent fighter, from what I recall. And he did his duty uncomplainingly—at least until he deserted. We could have used more like him.”

“Did he ever show any indications of still being connected to Sora? When he was first brought in, the boy hardly had a personality to speak of, but I theorized that he might begin to reflect aspects of Sora’s nature if he continued to develop freely. Would you say he displayed any of Sora’s core tendencies?”

“I really couldn’t say. I only worked with him off and on.” Dilan added the last of the bacon and some fresh silverware to the tray containing the omelette. “More importantly, someone ought to take all of this up before it gets cold.”

“I believe it’s your turn, Even, is it not?” Ienzo asked. Even huffed, but pushed his chair back.

“Oh, very well.” He inhaled the rest of his coffee and disappeared with the tray, his muttering faintly audible down the corridor. Ienzo finished reading and folded the broadsheet neatly, setting it aside.

“If there’s nothing else on the agenda, I’ll be in the library all day again,” he announced. “But if anyone from the committee comes knocking, fetch me. I was told Cid might be by to use the computer lab, depending on his schedule. Aeleus, would you like to lend me a hand? Or are you going into town?”

In short order Dilan was left alone, munching on the last of the bacon as he tidied up the kitchen in peace and quiet. Sadly he had only a few minutes to enjoy this blissful state of affairs before Ama reappeared, her arrival preceded by the echoes of her cheerful humming.

“I found some! They’re burnt out, but Leona should like them just fine. I swear, that is the most stubborn bird...”

“Dare I ask,” Dilan ventured dryly, wiping the counter with a rag, “what it is that the chicken wants with a set of lightbulbs?”

“She hadn’t been laying many eggs these past couple of days. Sometimes they get discouraged and stop laying if you keep taking all the eggs away, so you give them something to sit on that feels like an egg, and it keeps them happy. Lightbulbs are about the right size.” She set the bulbs on the counter and untied her dirt-smeared apron, draping it over the back of a chair. “How is it nine already? Goodness. I need to go into town before the market’s picked clean...What are we low on besides sugar?”

Dilan glanced at the chalkboard on the side of the fridge, mildly annoyed with himself as he did so for succumbing to the new habit.

“Odds and ends, it looks like. Butter and ginger, and the usual vegetables. And that salt-flavored ice cream that everyone’s so fond of.”

She scribbled this onto one of the bits of scrap paper that seemed to exist in every pocket of every garment she owned, then realized she’d left a trail of dirt in the kitchen and fetched a broom. Her flurry of sweeping back and forth contrasted with Dilan’s standing in place methodically wiping the stovetop, and by the time she finally left, she’d somehow managed to rob the ensuing silence of its serenity. Dilan was left to polish off the tail end of one of her scones as he leaned against the counter, brooding.

His initial idea of manipulating the woman for whatever useful purpose she might serve had not yet panned out, partly because he hadn’t decided what that purpose should be, but mostly (if he was honest with himself) because he hadn’t put any effort into it. Ama had turned out to be surprisingly hard to keep track of. Like Sora, she loved meeting people and had no reservations about throwing herself into the middle of any situation she came across, so committee work had kept her from being underfoot much at the castle, even though she ostensibly ‘lived’ there. More annoyingly, she was a warm, energetic, sociable person—qualities that Dilan hadn’t had to deal with in years. It had simply been easier to just leave her to her own devices so far.

Still, he ought to be doing _something._ If nothing else, it was worth keeping more of an eye on her to avoid a repeat of yesterday’s incident with the Heartless. Apparently the woman lacked a sense of self-preservation. If Sora paid a visit and found out she’d gotten eaten, he’d surely put them all back in their graves.

Muttering to himself, Dilan drained the last of his coffee and erased the grocery list off the chalkboard.

* * *

The library was a sunlit forest of overflowing shelves. Books spilled across the floor like scattered leaves, swayed in tall stacks that rustled like dead trees, and some had been piled oddly into dark corners like rotting logs, as if some secretive creature had used them to build a nest. On the ground floor, Ienzo stood bent over a table, sorting a batch of books into categories for rehoming.

So far he’d only managed to tame one modest nook in the vast library. It was a much bigger job than he’d initially realized, since almost everything had been disturbed by the turmoil of the intervening years, and there was no longer any rhyme or reason to the books’ placement on the shelves. Once upon a time, the library’s contents had run into the tens of thousands of volumes, but Ienzo hadn’t yet been able to estimate how many had survived the chaos unscathed. He was not optimistic enough to think the entire collection remained intact, but the only way to assess the extent of the damage was to put the whole library in order. Not an easy task.

He could hear Aeleus somewhere behind him, moving between the rows upstairs. Ienzo passed a hand over the embossed cover of the book in front of him, debating with himself briefly before setting it onto one of the piles he’d made along the edge of the desk.

Strategically, he knew that organizing the library was not the most effective use of his time. The apprentices’ current situation was like an intense juggling routine that couldn’t be kept up forever, and he ought to be embedding himself as deeply as he could within the Restoration Committee so that when the juggler’s act inevitably fell apart, he would be well positioned to mitigate the damage. But so far he’d only been to a couple of committee meetings, preferring to spend most of his time in here instead. It was partly because the task of reclaiming the once-familiar library genuinely interested him, but there was another reason too, one that had come to his attention soon after recompleting.

He pulled a heavy, well-worn book onto the table front of him, skimming it with a small frown.

At first he’d thought the problem was an artifact of recompletion, a symptom they all had that would ebb away with time. But—and he regretted saying anything about it in hindsight—when he’d brought it up with the others that first day, he’d discovered that no one else shared his predicament. Aeleus and the others had no trouble summoning the weapons that their time as Nobodies had gifted them, and none of their other abilities had been affected, as far as they could tell. Ienzo was different. Try as he might, he could no longer conjure the spellbook he’d been using as a weapon, and the illusions he’d had a knack for casting his whole life no longer came when bidden. He could still do magic in general, and was still quite good at it—but the particular talent of illusion that he’d honed his whole life had simply disappeared. He was like a musician who could no longer play his preferred instrument after an injury, even though his ear remained keen.

But that analogy didn’t fully capture it. It was an invisible loss, but a keenly palpable one, as tangible to him as if he’d been robbed of a body part. He’d lost an innate part of himself, but evidently a part that he could survive without, and one that had so far shown no signs of growing back. If nothing changed—if his laborious searching through magical textbooks yielded no insights—then Ienzo would simply have to learn how to live without that part of himself for the rest of his life.

The thought made him abruptly close the book in front of him, pushing it aside.

The Riku Replica had been annihilated in Castle Oblivion, swallowed by darkness. Lea had been completely confident of that, and Dilan had confirmed it by claiming that the others had heard nothing of the Replica afterwards. So the obvious deduction was that the Replica’s destruction had also destroyed all the power he’d brutally absorbed from Ienzo—or rather, from Zexion. Collateral damage.

On paper such a thing was impossible, but lately the word _impossible_ had been stripped of its authority, and the disquieting truth was that even now, weeks after recompleting, Ienzo had made no progress towards regaining his lost abilities. It really did seem as though they had been destroyed after being ripped from him, and that that power was no more able to return to him than an arm could regrow if severed.

This troubling situation was what kept him holed up in the library most days, poring over every book of magical theory that he could find.

He was not angry about it, exactly, because anger would be tantamount to accepting the loss, which he refused to do. Never mind that he’d made no headway yet, that absolutely nothing had worked so far and that he’d found no real leads in his search. It was simply a matter of time. Or so he told himself, very firmly, whenever the thought tried to keep him awake.

A large shadow fell over him from behind.

“Have you found something, Aeleus?” Ienzo asked, without turning around.

The stack of books coughed dust when Aeleus set it onto the table, and Ienzo knew before glancing at the titles that they would be magical texts of one variety or another, some academic, some experimental. He sifted through them, adding each to the appropriate pile.

“Thank you, Aeleus. These might prove useful.”

His matter-of-fact tone betrayed nothing, and yet Aeleus’s hand brushed his shoulder before falling away, a silent and brief reassurance. Aeleus had always been able to read his mood in a way that no one else could. Even before the Organization, many long years before they’d come together, Aeleus had been the only one who had paid close enough attention to be able to consistently decipher his silences. When a younger Ienzo had needed a book from a shelf he couldn’t reach, Even or the others had fetched it for him at once; only Aeleus had understood enough to pick Ienzo up and let him get it himself.

Aeleus set a few more books down on the table, though it was obvious at a glance that they were fiction rather than spellbooks.

“For upstairs?” Ienzo guessed. Aeleus nodded, and Ienzo moved them aside, so they wouldn’t get lost in the shuffle. “You’re thoughtful as always.”

“It’s the least we can do.” Aeleus eyed the spellbook splayed open beneath Ienzo’s hand. “Have you found anything new for yourself?”

“I can’t yet say. I haven’t combed through everything yet. But a few of these do actually look fairly promising, so that's something.” He put extra effort into sounding nonchalant as he continued rearranging spellbooks. “Don’t worry about me, Aeleus. It’s proving a stubborn problem, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t have a solution. Hand me that book over there, would you? The red one.”

Aeleus obeyed without comment.

* * *

As there was no committee meeting scheduled for the day, Ama spent most of it working on the makeshift vegetable patch she’d started carving out of a sunny spot in the courtyard, where the flagstones had all been pulled away. Of course she wouldn’t be staying at the castle long enough to turn it into a proper garden, but it was nice to have someplace to put the various flower cuttings Aerith had given her, and Aeleus had promised they’d have use enough for an herb garden that he would take over the patch after she moved out—which would be sooner rather than later. One of the committee’s most pressing projects at the moment was expanding the small, makeshift power grid, and once that had been done, they would be able to push the boundaries of the settlement outward. Ama wasn’t the only newcomer waiting on the opportunity to set up their own place.

By the middle of the afternoon, the patch looked at least somewhat presentable: leveled, mulched, and watered, with a scraggly but determined ring of flowers enclosing various herb cuttings she’d rooted to the best of her ability. Leona came over to inspect the results, checking for tasty insects, but her scratching ended up tearing into a few of the more shallow-rooted plants, and as Ama did the necessary repair work in Leona’s wake, she wondered what the rest of the Restoration Committee was up to today. They were, she thought, an unexpectedly colorful bunch.

There was Scrooge McDuck, Donald’s uncle, an aging but energetic businessman (businessduck?) and explorer who had been chasing wealth and adventure among the worlds for decades before the barriers between them could be easily crossed. Prior to the Fall he had been living in Radiant Garden, and had worked with King Mickey on the possibility of developing a reliable inter-world transport system. The spread of the Heartless and the destruction of Radiant Garden itself had only temporarily shelved this ambitious business plan. Now he was pursuing it with renewed vigor as a joint venture with several other interested parties, including the moogles and Cid Highwind, and was doing a tidy piece of business managing the bulk of the weekly supply shipments from Traverse Town.

The gruff and grizzled Cid had been a mechanical engineer in Radiant Garden before the Fall, and his interest in gummi blocks and inter-world travel began as nothing more than a hobby. But that hobby had saved his life when the Heartless overran the city and he’d fled the world in his first prototype ship, bringing with him the only people close enough to grab: three neighborhood kids who, like many others, sometimes came by his garage to watch him tinker with machinery. Though Cid had said nothing about it, Ama had learned from others that Cid’s wife had been one of the countless victims of the world’s collapse. He’d tried to go back for her in the gummi ship, but by the time he returned, there was no trace of her left.

“He doesn’t like to talk about it,” Leon had warned. “Don’t ask him about Shera unless he brings it up himself.”

At fifteen, Leon had been the oldest of Cid’s orphans, and over a decade later he now headed the Restoration Committee, though less as an executive and more as a mediator for the group’s collective decisions. Despite the teasing that his serious personality sometimes earned him, it had been his singular determination that gave birth to the resettlement project in the first place. He had been old enough during the Fall to have experienced it like an adult, and the memories of being unable to save any of his friends and family had marked him as deeply as the Heartless whose attack had left a diagonal scar across his face.

The middle of the three rescues, Aerith, was a kind, level-headed young woman whose family had run a small chain of flower shops before the Fall. Having inherited their vibrantly green thumb, Aerith was now more or less in charge of the Restoration Committee’s agricultural planning, and outside of meetings she could usually be found helping people set up pots of flowers in their windows, or doling out advice to those starting to grow their own herbs or vegetables. Persistent, patient, yet with a sly sense of humor, she was the mediating force that held the committee’s other personalities together.

Yuffie, a self-proclaimed ninja, was not only the youngest of Cid’s rescues, but at sixteen, the youngest person in the new settlement, period. She’d been young enough during the Fall to remember very little of it, a fact to which the others attributed her unquenchable boisterous optimism. Said optimism was, however, accompanied by a mischievous streak that had given Cid many a headache while raising her, not least because her ‘ninja’ hobbies had grown to include lockpicking, pickpocketing, and pulling elaborate pranks.

Then there was Tifa. Like the others, she had been young before the Fall, but unlike them, she hadn’t been rescued by Cid, only winding up in Traverse Town some time after the Fall itself. There was, Tifa had admitted, a whole complicated story to her survival, but it wasn’t one she was willing to tell in full, at least not to Ama. All she would say was that she and her best friend Cloud had survived the Heartless together, and wound up in Traverse Town after passing through several other worlds that had carried their own hardships. Cloud himself was still alive, but he only stopped by Radiant Garden once in awhile, and never for very long. The reason for his absence was something Tifa didn’t want to get too specific about.

“He’s on a journey,” she had admitted, when Ama asked her about it over tea. “To defeat Sephiroth, and find his light again.”

“Who is Sephiroth?”

“Someone we met back then, after the Heartless destroyed everything.” Tifa hesitated. “I don’t really want to go into all the details. But something...happened, and now Cloud and Sephiroth are connected. Connected by the darkness in Cloud’s heart. That’s why Cloud’s chasing him now. As long as Sephiroth is out there...Cloud can never be free.”

“I see,” Ama had lied, nodding. “So this ‘Sephiroth’...He’s a...person? A human?”

“Maybe he was once. I don’t know. All I know is that now, he’s a demon...a creature of darkness. He’s Cloud’s shadow.”

“Like a Heartless?”

But Tifa only shook her head.

The more people Ama had met, the more stories she heard, and the more stories she heard, the more she realized that the level of weirdness that Sora had established when he came home with the Keyblade was not as far above the baseline as she’d assumed. If Sora’s adventures were uncommonly bizarre and convoluted, it didn’t mean that bizarre and convoluted adventures were themselves all that rare. Sora simply seemed to have a knack for getting himself tangled up in an extraordinary number of other people’s lives.

She thought again of the papers she’d tacked to a corkboard upstairs in her bedroom: a sketchy diagram (or series of diagrams, really) with Sora, Riku, and Kairi at its center, charting the course of their adventures and the people they’d met along the way. Xehanort had his own diagram off to the side, but even that one was tangled up with the main diagram in all kinds of ways, based on the stories she’d been told and retold when Sora and Riku first came home.

Frankly, the fact that it was all complicated enough to even require diagrams was still a bit daunting. Sora had initially boiled all his exploits down to the declaration that he’d “made a bunch of friends,” which was all well and good, until he got around to describing exactly how he knew all these people, and then adding all of the information he himself had only learned secondhand from Master Aqua. That was when Ama had started writing things down. _This_ person turned into _that_ person who split off from another person who was a copy of a different person, and some of these people still existed and some of them didn’t and some of them never had, somehow—on and on and on, in an endless barrage of information that even now Ama felt she couldn’t wrap her head around completely.

It was impossible to think about every aspect of it all of it at once. There was just so _much_ to the whole situation. Magic and monsters and light and darkness, a sea of worlds beyond the stars, time travel and planes of reality and memory warping and hearts within hearts—all of these were fantastical notions that had been pulled from the pages of a book and dumped into her life with not so much as a courtesy warning. Even taking it all in one piece at a time could be dizzying.

Ama fussed with the garden bed for nearly an hour longer, until finally she had to admit to herself that there was nothing more that could be done with the resources at hand. It still looked a little too bare for her liking, and as she tidied up, she resolved to ask Scrooge whether he could arrange for some of the islands’ native plants to be shipped to her here—though of course she’d have to pay him somehow. Maybe a casserole? What did giant talking ducks eat?

Inside the castle, there was the usual round of chores to attend to—prepping ingredients for tomorrow’s meals, cleaning whatever spaces needed to be cleaned, taking in the day’s laundry from off the lines she’d strung in the courtyard. (They had a machine that washed and rinsed the laundry, powered by electricity, but Ama hadn’t brought herself to fully trust it yet, and still dried everything she could on a line.) She didn’t bump into any of the castle’s occupants as she ferried things to and fro, but that was typical. The building was mind-bogglingly enormous, even though most of it went unused.

The last place her errands took her was Even’s lab, poking her head in to make sure he’d eaten (he had) and didn’t need anything (he didn’t). But instead of going back downstairs to her room, she found herself unwittingly caught in place, gazing towards where the mysterious light from the previous day had lured her into the ‘forbidden’ section of the hallway. Unless she was mistaken, the light was still down there now, gently flickering.

It would be rude to pry, of course. But...Well, judging by the state of that end of the hall, whatever was down there needed a good mop and dusting. Surely it couldn’t hurt to just...assess the situation? After all, she wasn’t going to touch anything that might be stored there. Just take a quick peek.

As it had been the previous afternoon, there was indeed a distinct light coming through the bottom of the furthest door. The door itself, however, was not locked today. Ama paused, then turned the knob and nudged the door as gently as she could, letting it swing inward.

Nothing happened. No alarm sounded, and the light in the room did not turn off. Something crunched underfoot when she cautiously stepped inside.

The room appeared to be a workshop, although it also had a narrow bed pushed against the far wall. All sorts of electronic detritus littered the room, wires and transistors and plugs, and several computers in varying states of disrepair sat around like broken toys, their tangled innards disgorged along the bare floor. A single cracked monitor stood lit, displaying reels of green text on a black background that cyclically flickered and went out before reappearing, as if the machine had the hiccups.

A barefoot man knelt on the floor in the middle of the room, turning a circuit board over in his veined hands. Though only a little gray flecked his yellow hair and trim goatee, he had the sharp-boned, paper-skinned look of a man beginning to be old, and the shirt he wore hung off of him ill-fittingly, as if he’d lost weight. His hair looked as if it had once been long, then inexpertly cut short, perhaps of his own accord. For all that, though, there was something noble in his lined, weary face and dull orange eyes. He looked like a worn-out old lion that had been retired after long years in the circus.

“Ah...Good afternoon.” The man stopped whatever he was doing and looked up, puzzled in the faint, gentle way of the elderly who had forgotten their lives. “I’m sorry...Who are you?”


	7. Chapter 7

“So his name really is Ansem?”

Everyone else at the dinner table shifted uncomfortably. Ienzo sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, his food hardly touched.

“That’s correct, ma’am. As I’ve already said...”

“But I don’t understand. I thought that ‘Ansem’ was just another name for Xehanort?”

“Yes and no. That Ansem is an entirely different—person—than this one.”

“There are two people named Ansem?”

“Yes. Xehanort adopted the name ‘Ansem’ at one point for his own reasons.”

“But that doesn’t make sense. Why would he bother doing that? Here I thought Xehanort’s whole plan was going around and making other people become _ him,  _ not the other way around.”

Ienzo rubbed the bridge of his nose again. 

“This wasn’t done by the ‘original’ Xehanort. It was a different one.”

“The younger one? No, wait, that’s the original Xehanort too...”

“The one in Terra’s body.”

“Oh!” It clicked. “That man in the portrait, then. The really handsome one. He changed his name to Ansem?”

Eyebrows raised across the table, and Even mouthed  _ ‘How does she know about that?’  _ at Ienzo, who ignored him.

“That’s a succinct way of putting it, yes,” said Ienzo. “And apparently he still refers to himself that way, or at least his Heartless does. I think you knew that already.”

“I did, but...Oh, goodness, this is such a headache. So in that case, who’s the man upstairs?” She pointed at the ceiling with her fork. “The ‘other’ Ansem. What does he have to do with anything?”

Everyone looked at each other. Ienzo relented when it looked like she was about to press the question.

“Ansem,” he explained, “was once the patriarch of this city, years ago. Before the world fell to darkness and was destroyed. I’m sure you’ve already heard some mention of him from the other members of the Restoration Committee.”

“I had, but I thought they meant…” She processed this. “So you’re saying that the man _upstairs_ is who used to be the mayor? Not Xehanort?”

“He wasn’t the ‘mayor,’ exactly. Closer to a king.”

“King Ansem?”

“Lord Ansem.”

_ “Lord _ Ansem. All right, let me see if I have all this straight.” She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, cramming all this new information into her brain with some difficulty. “Mr. Ansem was the mayor around here, but then one of the Xehanorts started impersonating him, and now people think they’re the same. Is that about right?”

“More or less.”

“What a mess.” She touched her temple. “And here I’d thought I had finally gotten the hang of everything. But I suppose Sora and the others had to give me the short version.” Another thought struck her. “But then—where has the real Ansem been all this time? How did he get back home?”

“Apparently,” said Ienzo, “the woman called Aqua met him in the Realm of Darkness, and brought him back to the world of light with her. All of us were...erm,  _ very _ surprised to see him again, when she arrived here. Frankly it’s astounding that he lasted in the Realm of Darkness for as long as he did, and the experience has damaged his psyche.”

“So you’ve just stuck him up there in the attic, all by himself?”

“It’s not as if he’s locked in,” Dilan grumbled. “Not most of the time...”

“You at least make sure to feed him enough, don’t you?”

“Of course we do.”

“Then why don’t you—”

“Ma’am, you have to understand,” Ienzo said, putting on his best air of patient authority, “that Ansem is only a fragile shell of his former self. It’s incredible that he survived to begin with, and the darkness has taken a heavy toll on him. Unfortunately, it appears he’s forgotten everything about his long and...highly eventful...life. In the state he’s in, he wouldn’t be able to live independently. So we took it upon ourselves to take care of him here, as best as we can.”

“I see.” She mulled this over. “I suppose all that makes sense...as much as any of this makes sense, anyway. But why didn’t you all just tell me about him earlier? I wouldn’t mind helping you take care of him, as long as I’m here too.”

“It would hardly be fair to burden you with such a thing. Besides, we’re trying to avoid causing any trouble.”

“What do you mean?”

Ienzo sighed heavily, leaning back in his seat.

“To be honest, ma’am, this is for Ansem’s own good.” (Impressively, this was not entirely a lie.) “The fact is that Xehanort has irreparably tarnished his name, and so people think of ‘Ansem’ only as the person who was responsible for the Heartless. I’m sure you’ve already heard something to that effect from the committee, about how ‘Ansem’ brought destruction upon this world? Proving otherwise would be very difficult without evidence, since people have thought that way for years. And, even if we somehow did convince everyone of the truth—what good would it do, really? The townspeople would have endless questions, and Ansem is no longer capable of answering them. Better for him to live in peace and quiet than to force him to deal with a life he doesn’t remember, and the aftermath of a tragedy he didn’t cause. To thrust him into the spotlight in the condition he’s in would be nothing short of cruel.”

To general relief, Ama accepted this explanation, though she still seemed unhappy about it, and sawed through her food with a determined, Sora-esque glint in her eye that no one liked the look of. Ienzo allowed himself a few bites in the lull.

“That’s the gist of the situation,” he concluded. “So I’m sure you can appreciate why it’s such a delicate subject.”

“I suppose so.” Ama frowned. “So, what you’re saying is...Everyone in town thinks that the man upstairs is responsible for the Heartless. But it was actually Xehanort.  _ A _ Xehanort. A Xehanort calling himself Ansem, who used to be Aqua’s friend Terra before Xehanort got ahold of him.”

“That’s correct.” Ienzo paused. “I think.”

“Good heavens. All of this is so confusing.” She pushed her plate away, apparently unable to digest both food and a new heap of information at the same time. “I guess I shouldn’t mention him to any of the others, then? Leon and everyone else. They don’t know about this Ansem mix-up, do they?”

“No, they don’t. At least, I don’t believe they do. Either way, it would be best if you didn’t bring him up. Perhaps someday, if his condition ever improves, we can think about untangling all of this and letting visitors interrogate him. But he’s not prepared for it as of now, and after everything he’s been through, his comfort is our first priority.”

“Well, of course. The poor man...You said he doesn’t remember being the mayor? Or anything else about himself?”

“Nothing. When Aqua found him, he didn’t even know his own name.”

This sad revelation drove the gravity of the whole mess home, so that Ama completely abandoned the rest of her half-eaten dinner and started stacking up the other plates that they’d finished with, which weren’t many. Everyone had stopped eating (and in some cases, choked on their food a bit) as soon as she’d mentioned her new discovery.

“Well then.” She looked around at all of them. “It’s very kind of you all to do what you’re doing. And I know that you all check on him every day, but I have to say...I don’t like the thought of some poor old man sitting up there alone, with no one keeping an eye on him a lot of the time. What if something happens in between meals? You wouldn’t know for hours.”

“He’s not a child,” Even said grumpily.

“Still, you never know. He could have a heart attack, or—oh, I don’t know, fall in the shower. My friend Erika’s mother had that happen, you know. The poor woman broke her hip and no one heard her with the water running, she was lying in the bathroom for half an hour…”

As she was telling this story, the others exchanged enough meaningful looks to constitute a wordless debate, which culminated in Ienzo clearing his throat loudly enough to interrupt her.

“Your concern is appreciated, ma’am. But don’t feel obligated to involve yourself in his care. He’s our responsibility.”

“Can I at least bring him food now and then?”

“Yes, you’re free to do that. Just try not to disturb him, if you would.”

“I won’t.”

No one looked as if they believed her, but she didn’t seem to notice, instead shaking her head as she ferried the dirty dishes to the counter.

“I know it’s not easy, taking care of older people like that. It can be a lot to handle, especially if their minds have started to go...” Already she was arranging extra food onto a plate. “Has he had his dinner yet? Should I take him something?”

“You don’t have to go to the trouble,” said Dilan. “One of us will see to it.”

But there was no stopping her, and no one made any particular effort to try, so that when she left the kitchen a minute later it was with a whole assortment of options stacked haphazardly onto a serving tray. The argument erupted as soon as she was out of earshot.

“I  _ told _ you all!” Even insisted. “What have I been saying this entire time? The woman’s more than a nuisance now—she’s an outright liability. Why is she even still here? We ought to have thrown her out a week ago. Now look what’s happened.” He knocked a fist against the table. “How are we supposed to deal with this debacle? If word of this gets out...”

“I don’t think it’s a problem,” said Aeleus. Even glared at him.

“Oh? Not a problem? Explain how.”

Aeleus shrugged. Then, realizing this wasn’t enough of an answer, he added, “He can’t be alone forever. We would have had to introduce him to people sooner or later.”

No one looked pleased about this, but no one jumped to argue with it, either. The truth was that they had all agreed previously, every time the subject came up, that the current arrangement around Ansem wasn’t sustainable in the long term, and that they would eventually have to decide what to actually do with the ghost of the man they’d betrayed. But their discussions always went in circles. Putting him in the care of others would only work if they lied about who he was, if no one who knew the truth ever stopped by to reveal it, and if Ansem himself never regained any memories as time went on. Conversely, keeping him safe and comfortable “at home” was at least a sort of kindness, and it was hard to argue that he didn’t deserve it, after everything that had happened.

But supposing that Ansem did one day remember the past—what then? He couldn’t really harm them, and had no authority left, but still. Armed with the truth, what might he want to do? What would  _ they  _ do? What was the best course of action?

So far, no one had come up with an answer they could all agree on.

“I suppose it was inevitable, to a degree,” Ienzo sighed. “You’re not wrong, Aeleus, though I’m not happy about it. It seems our best option is to use this situation as a sort of test case.”

“What’s done is done,” Dilan agreed, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. “And a fine mess it is. But at least she can’t tell him anything we wouldn’t like him to know.”

“I rather think there’s a lot she could tell him that we’d not like him knowing, “ Even argued. “She could talk about Xehanort, for example.”

“And what of it? It’s plain to see that the darkness has eaten his mind full of holes. He’s been here this long and seen our faces daily, yet his condition hasn’t improved. I’d say there’s little chance of a stranger summoning back his memories where we couldn’t.”

“Even if she did…” Aeleus began, but Even spoke over him.

“Unusually optimistic of you, Dilan. But  _ I’ve _ studied memories enough to know how difficult they are to destroy completely. If he ever remembers what happened...”

“And what do you suggest we do,” Dilan asked, “if he does remember? Banish him again?”

Even balked.

“I—no, certainly not. I was only expressing the notion—”

“I think we’re all more than aware of the difficulties at hand, Even,” Ienzo said. “And I won’t pretend that these circumstances are ideal. I had  _ hoped _ to avoid this situation in particular. But, realistically…” He looked suddenly thoughtful, and stroked at his cravat. “It’s not as if keeping him a secret was ever a long-term solution. There are too many people who know too much for that to be feasible. Our best bet, I think, is to dole the truth out ourselves, in small doses—as I did just now. At least this way, we retain control over the situation. Though if any of you have any better suggestions, I’d certainly like to hear them.”

No one did. Even grumbled profusely, but didn’t speak up, and when Aeleus and Ienzo were left alone in the kitchen, Ienzo sighed and relaxed his posture, staying in his seat while Aeleus got started on the dishes. There was a brief, contemplative silence.

“I had worried that this might happen,” Ienzo finally said aloud.

He waited, but Aeleus made no noise of agreement, and Ienzo looked over his shoulder at him. 

“Something bothering you, Aeleus?”

In fact he didn’t need to hear it verbalized to know what was on Aeleus’s mind, since they’d had this conversation more than once already over the past few weeks.

“You’re still of the opinion that we should tell Ansem the truth,” Ienzo guessed.

Aeleus submerged a plate into the soap-filled sink.

“He has nothing left, Ienzo. He deserves at least that much.”

“I disagree. Besides, he’s happy now, after a fashion. Why take that away from him?”

“I think it’s the right thing to do.”

Ienzo frowned, watching Aeleus work through the dishes.

“You aren’t thinking of telling him anything, are you, Aeleus?”

“Not if you don’t want me to.”

“You know I don’t.”

“Then I won’t say anything.”

“And if he ever begins to remember on his own...Would you confirm the truth, if he asks?”

Aeleus’s only answer was to start scrubbing another plate clean. Ienzo made a faintly displeased noise.

“We have to be mindful of our own position first and foremost, Aeleus. Just as we’ve always done. Now’s hardly the best time to start obeying your conscience.”

Aeleus did not argue.

* * *

For the first time in her life, Ama found herself in the position of having to keep a secret. It wasn’t something she had much practice with, since on the islands gossip reigned supreme; the community was too tightly-knit for secrets to be easily hidden to begin with, and in any case there wasn’t much else to do besides talk to the neighbors. So sitting at the next morning’s meeting and listening to Cid walk through the specs of the proposed power grid expansion, knowing that no one else in the room knew about the old mayor living up at the castle, was an oddly jarring experience.

By the end of the meeting, however, she’d decided that Ienzo was right, and the mayor’s existence didn’t make much difference one way or the other. The new crop of settlers in Radiant Garden were focused entirely on moving forward, and if Ansem couldn’t answer any of their practical questions about what was left of the town’s infrastructure, or about what had happened all those years ago, then it was hard to imagine what good it would do to involve him. If he really didn’t remember anything, he was no more helpful than a random stranger.

Still, the thought of his predicament bothered her enough that she bowed out of having lunch at Tifa’s after the meeting, instead heading back up to the castle to check on Ansem herself. Luckily it was still early enough that Aeleus reported they hadn’t yet taken him lunch. After hanging up some laundry, she armed herself with the best of the fridge’s leftovers and made her way back upstairs.

As she navigated the corridors, she tried to tell herself that she shouldn’t judge too harshly. This was another world, after all, and people did things differently here. Nevertheless, she could not lessen the feeling that leaving an old man shut away without company for hours at a time was sad, if well-intentioned, and that whatever he’d suffered would surely be helped by getting a bit of fresh air now and then. What had Aqua said about the Realm of Darkness? An upside-down wasteland without light or time, only hungry monsters and endless darkness and the twisted remains of worlds that had collapsed in on themselves. A place where the only company you had were the demons in your own heart.

Ansem hadn’t been belligerent when she’d intruded before—just confused, and cautious. Still, Ama made sure to knock several times and announce her arrival before peering inside his room, and while he didn’t smile as she entered, he didn’t look alarmed, either.

As it had been on her prior visits, the room was unusually brightly lit, both from the large windows along one wall and from every artificial light being turned on at once. Ansem paused in whatever he was doing, blinking as he watched her set the tray of hot food onto a side table nearby.

“Are you...Have we met?” he asked warily.

“Yes, we have. I’m Ama, don’t you remember?”

“I...no, I don’t recall. I’m sorry.” He sounded it. “Please forgive me. I have...trouble remembering things...”

“It’s all right. You’ll catch on.” She started unloading the tray. “Don’t mind me, I’ll just be coming around to check on you once in awhile. Are you hungry at all? There’s some nice mushroom soup left over from yesterday—and here’s some rice—”

He accepted the barrage of food, not with enthusiasm so much as polite bewilderment. As he started on it, Ama took stock of the surroundings, trying to decide whether anything needed improvement. The room was clean, at least, if rather spartan, and scattered knickknacks alluded to the benevolence of his caregivers: a scraggly orchid on the windowsill, books from the castle library stacked on a dresser, popsicle sticks discarded after their ice cream had all been eaten. But something about it all bothered her, and it took her a moment’s thought to pin down exactly what. Between the glaring lights and the lack of furniture or personal belongings, the room had a subtly institutional aura, and reminded her of the brightly-lit sterility of the hospital ward from all those years ago, far away on the big island that had taken the mail boat two days to reach. It didn’t feel like a place that someone truly lived in, so much as a place that they had been confined to for their own safety.

“Are you doing all right up here?” she asked, as Ansem blew steam off of his bowl of soup. “Because if you need anything, I can go hunt it down for you. There’s enough pillows and things lying around to fill a barn.”

The offer seemed to surprise him. He shook his head.

“No...No, I can’t think of anything...”

“Are you sure? It wouldn’t be any trouble. We all want you to be comfortable.” She flipped back the covers on the bed to check the state of the sheets (they were clean), then reflexively fluffed both pillows. “Just say the word if you ever think of anything you need.”

She moved across the room to check the condition of the curtains, and nearly stepped on a broken motherboard on her way. Instead of kicking it aside, she bent and picked it up, turning it over curiously.

“What are all of these machines?” she asked, then gave him the piece of motherboard when he held out a hand. “Are you building something?”

“No...not exactly. These are computers.” He set the piece onto a pile of similar junk nearby. “I put them together, and write programs for them. They told me it was a hobby of mine, once upon a time, and I suppose they must be right. It comes to me more easily than other things.”

As he said this a faint spark of some positive note lit his voice, like a glimmer of pride, but it subsided almost at once. Ama had almost no experience with computers whatsoever, so she wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or worried by the level of mild chaos this hobby seemed to require, and nudged several other odds and ends out of range of being stepped on.

“That’s good that you have something to do,” she said, leaning over and wiping the windowsill with her fingers, testing it. Dusty, but not terribly so—someone had cleaned recently enough. The view out the window wasn’t much, though. This side of the castle only offered a panorama of the empty ravine where water had once ringed the old city, and then the craggy wastelands beyond. 

She wondered whether the uninspiring view could be improved at all. Maybe some flowers down around the edges of the old courtyard...

Ansem did not try to engage her in conversation, and she turned, watching him alternate between taking slow, careful bites of food and making slow, careful adjustments to whatever piece of machinery he was working on. His demeanor saddened her. She had seen this condition before, in friends’ grandparents in their oldest age, and even in her own father during those few months he’d lingered after the stroke. When illness began to gnaw away the mind, there were predictable ways that the personality unraveled; some people became impulsive, even violent, their confusion and fear as their memories slipped away exploding into aggression as their family and friends were replaced by strangers. Others simply withered, turning in on themselves in silent confusion, until they had so few faculties remaining that their hollow existence blurred the line between life and death. Ansem was evidently in the latter category, though of course his amnesia wasn’t because of ordinary senility. Still, the end result was similar enough. Everything Ama had heard about Radiant Garden’s glory days implied that its ruler had been a person of great energy and vision, but if that had been true of this man in front of her now, there was no way to tell. He seemed docile, and even fragile in an odd, pitiful way.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything fixed up for you?” she tried. “Do you need more blankets? Or how about adjusting these lights a little bit? It’s awfully bright in here…”

A spasm of alarm crossed his face.

“No, I’d rather—Please leave the lights on. Always.”

She realized her mistake.

“Oh—yes, of course. Whatever you like. I suppose it must have been very dark in...that other place.”

He shivered. Ama unconsciously rubbed the back of her hand where the Shadow Heartless had cut her with its claws.

“That had to have been terrible for you,” she said gently. “And very lonely. But the good thing is that you’re home now. Those creatures aren’t going to get you here.”

“Home...” Ansem sighed, plugging some wire into place that sparked when it connected. “Am I really? I don’t know. They say that this is my home, but...I don’t remember it. I don’t remember much of anything.”

“Have you tried writing down what you do remember? Or keeping a diary? Sometimes that helps things stick.”

The suggestion made him look up, as if surprised by it. But he blinked it away, picking up a small screwdriver and setting to work on a half-loosened bit of casing securing one side of the circuit board he had been fiddling with.

“I’ve tried to do that, yes. But I can’t seem to make a habit of it. It’s as if…”

He trailed off, a pained look crossing his face that Ama recognized. It was the same quiet frustration that plagued the elderly when they struggled to recall a story they’d once known by heart.

“Do you remember anyone you cared about?” Ama tried. “Your friends? Your family? That might be easier than just trying to remember facts.”

This gave him a moment’s pause.

“You know...it’s the oddest thing.” His brow knit as he frowned. “I’ve no reason to believe it, but sometimes I have a feeling that perhaps...Perhaps I used to have children.” He frowned harder and rubbed his lined forehead. “But it can’t be so. They would have told me, I think.”

Discouraged, he stopped working with the casing and resumed eating the food she’d brought. Ama sat down on the edge of the rumpled bed, just far away enough that her proximity wouldn’t seem threatening.

“I’m sure they would have told you if you had any family here,” she agreed. “But that must be very frustrating, not to know for sure.” She hesitated. “Did you know you were...someone important, once? That’s what they told me downstairs.”

This made him smile tiredly into his plate.

“Yes, I’ve been told that before. I’ve been told...oh, all sorts of things. But I don’t know whether to believe it. It doesn’t seem possible. I often wonder if they’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

He stirred his soup, watching it swirl.

“But I’m very grateful to the men here for taking me in. I don’t want for anything, and they don’t ask anything of me in return. They’re really very kind.”

“They don’t leave you alone for too long, do they?” Ama prodded. “It worries me that you’re by yourself so much.”

“I don’t mind it.”

“Well, we don’t want you to feel like you have to stay in here if you don’t want to.”

Ansem started slightly when Ama reached over to pat him on the back.

“If you ever want to come downstairs and spend time with everyone, we’d love to have you.”

He took this in stride, though the offer seemed to intimidate him more than anything. He looked away, fiddling with a transistor as if it were a toy.

“Thank you,” he told her. “I’ll...I’ll consider it. It’s just difficult to get around, when I can’t remember where to go...”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s hard,” she agreed. “Do you know the layout of the castle at all? They said you used to live here.”

“No. I don’t remember anything,” Ansem sighed. “Except...A little about the boy, now and again. But that doesn’t help me much.”

“The boy?”

“The boy with the Keyblade. Sora. I think that’s his name.”

“You know Sora?”

“Know him? Mm...No. I don’t...think so. I believe I knew more about him, once...yet I’ve forgotten almost all of it. But you sound as if you’ve met him yourself. I think a great many people know him.”

“Sora is my son.”

As always, this information demanded total attention. Ansem stopped what he was doing and regarded her with the same mild surprise that she had received from everyone on the Restoration Committee on her first day in town. 

“Your son? Really?” He sounded puzzled. “What a strange coincidence. How did you come to be here, if I may ask?”

“I’m following Sora, in a way. I didn’t want to keep sitting at home worrying while he’s out there helping people. I thought I might be able to help too.”

“So I suppose he inherited that from you, then? His love of helping others.”

She couldn’t help but smile.

“Oh, I don’t know if I’d say that. Honestly, I think most of it came from his father. Sora’s very like Jin.”

“And did his father come here with you?”

“No.” She hesitated. “Jin passed away, I’m afraid. It’s just been Sora and me for a few years now.”

This seemed to surprise Ansem, for his expression softened.

“Is that so? I’m sorry to hear that. My condolences.” He thought it through, then added, “I admit, I never would have guessed that Sora had experienced such a deep loss. I recall very little about him, but from what I know...His heart is marvelously bright. One would think he’d never experienced hardship.”

“He’s always been that way.” She smiled sadly to herself, remembering. “He’s such a strong boy, on the inside. After Jin died...It took him a while to smile again, but he did. I worried and worried about him, but of course...”

She had to laugh, and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Oh, don’t even get me started on all that. Sora’s a handful, but...I’m very proud of him. I could talk about that boy for hours.”

Ansem laughed too. It wasn’t mirthful—rather the same kind of quiet, melancholy laugh she’d just done. It sounded strange, as if he were out of practice.

“I wouldn’t mind that, I think. Sora is the only good thing I’ve had in my mind for quite a long time.” He reached over onto the serving tray for a cup of tea. “I doubt I’ll be able to remember any of it, but...Would you tell me a little more about him? Sora. Please tell me a story about Sora.”


	8. Chapter 8

After much persuasion from Ama, and not without trepidation, Ansem began occasionally leaving his room.

The rest of the castle was in two minds about this. On the one hand, it was nice to not have to check on him multiple times a day, since he turned out to be able to forage for leftovers fairly well on his own, with the aid of a few handwritten signs that guided him back and forth between his room and the kitchen. On the other hand, he did sometimes need rescuing after getting lost, and bumping into him unexpectedly in the corridors was always an unpleasant surprise.

“It’s like he’s a ghost haunting the place,” Even complained. “He shouldn’t go wandering at odd hours.”

At least their former master was a harmless sort of ghost, rather than the vengeful spirit he ought to be. If amnesia had erased all the pain of the past, it had also robbed him of most of who he’d been, and he was timid now in a way that would have been utterly uncharacteristic of the man they’d served before. Not that they had cause to complain about it, mind. It kept him from making more than cursory use of his freedom, and he seemed entirely content with scrounging up food and spare computer parts here and there, showing no desire to do anything as inconvenient as, say, go into town.

This change in routine at the castle coincided with a change in Radiant Garden itself. Though Heartless attacks continued to be slightly on the rise, they weren’t enough to deter the Restoration Committee from pressing forward with plans to expand the size of the town, albeit very modestly, and after much discussion these plans had entered their final stages. All the required land had been cleared and leveled, and the needed pipework and wiring had been mapped down to the last square foot.

Originally, the intent of the expansion had simply been to add a few more houses to accommodate the small community’s newest arrivals, but at the town hall session that had approved the project, the population had also voted in favor of an idea that had not been part of the original plans. Said idea had first reared its head months ago, when Tifa had submitted a proposal to convert some then-unused space in the market square into a bar. Despite public interest, Leon had, at the time, vetoed it on principle.

“Come on, you guys. Do we really want to have a bar in town before we have a hospital?” he’d asked, exasperated. “Or before we have a school?”

“Who are we supposed build a school for, Leon?” Yuffie argued. “It’s not like anybody around here has kids. Let’s do it—it would be fun! I could wait tables.”

“Not in my bar,” Tifa said, tugging on Yuffie’s headband. “Didn’t a certain _someone_ get fired from waiting tables back in Traverse Town because she kept stealing all the customers’ wallets?”

“Aw, Tifa, I’m better than that now. They won’t notice a thing when I swipe ‘em! Promise!”

“A bar would be good for community morale,” Mog pointed out. “And for business too, _kupo!”_

Leon had stood firm, and the market space went to nobler causes. But everyone else had liked the idea so much that it kept getting brought up at every town hall afterwards, and during the planning of this newest expansion, Leon had finally caved on the condition that new residents who still needed their own homestead had priority, and a bar could only be built if there was enough space left over. To his dismay, there was plenty of room to spare (thanks to several people voluntarily altering their living situation in support of the cause). Thus, with the financial backing of Scrooge McDuck and the collective blessing of the locals, a chunk of the newly-cleared land had been set aside as the future location of Tifa’s bar.

Today, after much preparation, they were finally breaking ground on all of this. The Restoration Committee’s usual morning meeting had been cancelled in favor of overseeing the commotion, and Cid was everywhere at once, barking orders and directing volunteers, Mog hovering along behind him carrying rolls of blueprints twice his own size.

Practically the whole town had turned up for the construction effort. Even the apprentices had been drawn out of the castle to observe the goings-on, but as soon as someone tried to rope them into doing manual labor, Even predictably disappeared—leaving the other three obligated to make a better impression of their collective usefulness. Aeleus and Ienzo volunteered their services as a team, and while Dilan would have preferred to work with them, Ienzo instead charged him with overseeing the solution to the problem they’d been having for the past couple of weeks.

“The sooner all of this is finished,” Ienzo pointed out, “the sooner she’ll be out of our hair. You ought to make sure nothing happens to cause a delay in getting her place set up.”

“And why should that be my responsibility?”

“It’s your fault she came to the castle to begin with, isn’t it?”

This was highly debatable, as far as Dilan was concerned, but Ienzo did not bother letting him contest it. Dilan resigned himself to the task, and made it a point to keep an eye on what Ama was doing amongst the rest of the crowd as the work began.

Fortunately, it was easier to keep track of her today than it usually was. At every opportunity she left the main worksite to go give her own plot of land a thorough inspection, planning her garden aloud to the last detail. All the ‘residential’ lots had already been measured and staked off, and a series of widely-spaced fence posts surrounded the emptiness that would become her home away from home—the sooner, the better.

“It won’t be an upgrade,” Ama admitted, surveying the bare ground, “but that’s nothing to sneeze at. After all, it’s practically free.”

“Even so,” said Dilan, “none of this work will be finished in a day. You’ll have a little while yet to make your decisions.”

He watched her hum to herself as she poked around between the stakes, sometimes stopping to draw in the dirt with the toe of her shoe to mark off where a certain bed ought to be planted, or where a corner of the future cottage would extend to after the foundation had been laid.

It was, Dilan mused, a clear indicator of how desperate the Restoration Committee was to attract new blood that they were giving housing away for next to nothing. Radiant Garden had hardly grown at all, it sounded like, since Leon and the others had first arrived to recolonize it, and it wasn’t as if the ramshackle town had anything to offer that couldn’t already be found in some other, bigger, much safer place.

Then again, even calling Radiant Garden a  _ town _ was perhaps being generous, given that it had barely a hundred residents. Of these, a handful had lived in the city prior to its destruction, while others had come from elsewhere in the wider world that Radiant Garden was a part of. But most were refugees from Traverse Town who either couldn’t or didn’t want to return to their original worlds, and word had it that there were even a few people still living in Traverse Town who were from the old Radiant Garden, but who had rejected all the Restoration Committee’s advances about coming back to resettle. Dilan could understand why. The city had been idyllic in its prime: a model of peace and prosperity, physically remote from most other political entities in its world, and largely self-sufficient because of it. For many long years it had stood as a beacon of learning and a symbol of neutrality, untouched by the ebb and flow of distant happenings in the lands around it.

Now all that was left of that shining oasis was a tiny, struggling frontier outpost, surrounded by empty wasteland instead of farms. The few people who’d dared to move here were eking out a living day by day, tethered to a lifeline of imports, and the Heartless remained such a persistent threat that attacks happened almost daily, and no one left their house after dark. There might be great opportunity here, as the Restoration Committee advertised, but it came with so many difficulties attached that only someone young, brave, or foolish—or all three—would have reason to come and take it.

In the midst of these ruminations, Ama popped up beside him with sudden cheerfulness, like a ray of sunlight poking out from behind a cloud.

“Did you hear me, Dilan? I meant to tell you earlier—Aerith invited me over for dinner tonight, so I won’t be around to cook. Do you need me to make something that you can throw in the oven for the others?”

“We did manage to get on before you arrived, you know,” he pointed out. “No one at the castle is going to starve without your supervision.”

“Even might. I don’t think that man would remember to eat half the time if the rest of us didn’t feed him.”

Dilan snorted.

“We can fend for ourselves for one evening,” he told her. “Do as you like. But if you’ll be returning to the castle after dark, you’d best have someone escort you. The Heartless are spawning more often at night.”

“I’ll do that. I’m sure Aerith won’t mind.”

She rolled up one of her sleeves that had fallen down, diving headlong back into the fray with renewed vigor. Dilan made an exasperated noise.

Over the course of the morning a surprising amount of work got done, thanks in no small part to the magic that Merlin and others performed under Cid’s strict supervision. All of the water, sewer, and power lines had already been laid underground via magic, too, but several times during the digging, something was discovered to have been placed slightly off-center, and there was a lot of back and forth over the blueprints, deciding whether to proceed anyway or whether to stop and move everything around. Still, with so many volunteers, they made considerable progress—even if it was almost all progress on the bar.

Near midday the bustling operation wound down for lunch. Predictably, Ama produced an assortment of homemade rice balls and cold sandwiches from seemingly nowhere, foisting them upon hungry volunteers until they’d all disappeared. Lunch also brought a commotion in the form of a Heartless attack, but the Restoration Committee sprang into action as soon as the first screams rang out, and Leon and the others made short work of the small horde, aided by those few in the crowd who had enough combat experience to be useful. The highlight of the brief, intense skirmish was Aeleus smashing a Heartless so hard with his axe-sword that it sailed thirty feet up into the air before disintegrating, earning him onlookers’ applause.

While brief, the Heartless incident did dampen the mood somewhat, and when work resumed it was at a less blithely energetic pace. Ama cajoled Dilan into helping her ferry supplies from the main construction site up to her assigned plot, and then took great pains to lay down visual markers of the decisions she’d made in the morning, putting down stakes in various configurations and marking them with colored tape as necessary. Dilan used it as an opportunity to take a breather, and leaned his back against one of the wooden fence posts, folding his arms and watching the work being done on the bar up the street. 

“...don’t really know if it will work at that height, but if that’s the best I can do...Dilan, hand me that roll of tape over there, would you? The yellow one.”

He tossed it to her. She pulled off a long strip, using it to mark off the space between several stakes that delineated the boundaries of a future vegetable patch, then spent a minute pacing the whole length of the yard, admiring her handiwork. Satisfied, she brushed dirt from her knees and joined him on the other side of the makeshift fence, briefly taking off her large, floppy hat to fan her sweaty face.

“Isn’t this exciting?” she said happily, looking up the street at the continued hubbub. “This whole street is going to look so nice once it’s up. I hope everything’s finished before Sora comes to visit.”

Dilan hadn’t been paying much attention, but the word  _ Sora  _ caught his ear, and he looked over at her, frowning.

“Is Sora on his way here, then?”

“Oh, no. At least, I don’t think so...I haven’t gotten a chance to talk to him in a while. I try to reach him every few days, but I’ve only gotten through a couple of times since I’ve been here. He seems like he’s very busy.”

“Off on his usual adventures, I assume? Fighting the Heartless on other worlds.”

“That’s what it sounds like. The last time we talked, he said he’d just been to...Oh, I can’t remember the name now. A jungle sort of place. He was helping out a man who got turned into a llama.”

“A what?”

“A llama. I think it’s some kind of animal.”

She looked suddenly thoughtful, and tilted her floppy hat to better shield her eyes as she looked up at the blue sky, a line of clouds on the distant horizon teasing the first storm of the spring.

“It’s amazing how many different worlds there are, isn’t it? Before Sora told me everything, I never could have imagined it. Even this place...” She looked over her shoulder at the dilapidated castle that dominated the view behind them, from this angle blocking out an appreciable chunk of the sky. “Being here...It’s just like being in a fantasy.”

Dilan made a disparaging noise.

“I can’t say I agree on that account. What’s fantastical about such an empty ruin as this?”

“You only think that because you know what it looked like before.” She brushed dirt off of her elbow. “I know things used to be better here, but even now, I think it’s all very...enchanting.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. The castle, and the buildings that are left...You can just feel how beautiful this world used to be. Even the people here are beautiful.”

This was such a strange observation that Dilan had to laugh.

“Do you think so? That’s a peculiar detail to notice.”

“I can hardly not notice. Honestly, it’s almost intimidating.” 

She took off her hat, idly fanning herself with it as she watched the work going on up the street. Leon and Tifa looked like they were debating something, both pointing to different spots on a blueprint shared between them. 

“Not that I’m complaining, not at all. But it was certainly unexpected. Everyone here is just so wonderfully attractive.”

“Hmph. And dare I wonder whether you’ve included your hosts in that grand assessment?”

He asked it sarcastically, as a joke, but started when she poked him sharply in the ribs.

“Oh, Dilan, don’t be like that. There’s nothing more infuriating than gorgeous people acting like they’re plain, fishing for compliments. I had enough of that nonsense back when I was in school.”

“What are you on about?” He frowned and rubbed the spot where she’d poked him, though it didn’t hurt. “I wasn’t ‘fishing’ for...What do you mean gorgeous?”

“There you go again, fishing. Really, Dilan, it’s a bit tacky.”

“I am doing no such thing. I’m only trying to make sense of what you’ve just said.”

“What doesn’t make sense about it?” She tucked her hat under her arm. “You asked if all of you up at the castle are good-looking. Well, of course you are. In different ways, of course, but honestly—you could take a vote around town and anyone would say the same thing. It’s not even a question, really.”

She did not sound embarrassed in the least. If anything her tone was one of mild disbelief, as if she were slowly realizing that Dilan had somehow made it this far into adulthood without learning something simple, like how to put on socks.

“You...you do  _ know  _ that you’re handsome, don’t you?” she asked, faintly concerned. Dilan made an indignant noise.

“Know that I’m—hold on, now. Where did that come from?”

“You asked for my opinion. What were you expecting me to do? Lie?”

He scowled at her, trying to work out whether she was playing a prank.

“It’s an odd thing to hear out of nowhere, is all,” he said at last. “People here aren’t generally so...forward with their opinions.”

“Is that so?” If she was being sarcastic, she was very good at hiding it; she seemed as innocently matter-of-fact as Sora. “Well, where I’m from, you can’t afford to be shy about that sort of thing. The islands aren’t very big, and people get married young. If you aren’t ‘forward,’ all the good ones get taken before you leave school. Is ‘being forward’ considered rude here, then? I’m still learning.”

“It wasn’t rude, no. Just...unexpected.”

“You sound like no one’s ever paid you a compliment before.”

“I can’t say I recall the last time it happened.”

“Oh, now I  _ know  _ you’re lying. Stop it.”

She gave him a light rap on the upper arm, intended as a playful retort to his joking answer, but when he only made an annoyed noise in return, it seemed to dawn on her that he was, in fact, not joking.

“You mean that, don’t you?” she asked, mildly surprised. “You’re really not used to hearing nice things.”

“Hmph. Does it astonish you that much?”

“Of course it does. Here I thought that surely you were...oh, I don’t know. Seeing someone, at least. Never mind about compliments.”

“Beg pardon, now?” But he realized her meaning, and snorted derisively, his long hair rattling as he shook his head firmly. “No, I am  _ not  _ ‘seeing someone.’ Nor do I ever intend to. Love is a delusion believed only by starry-eyed fools.”

The bitter vehemence of his answer visibly puzzled her.

“I don’t know about that,” she said, perplexed, “but ‘love’ is a little much, isn’t it? I was thinking you’d at least have someone in town that you like to have fun with now and then.”

“I do not. And I can’t fathom what makes it difficult to believe.”

“Well, look at you! Goodness.” She sized him up, fists on hips, still clutching her hat in one hand. She reached out and tapped him with the brim. “See here, Dilan, this is why I thought you were fishing for compliments a minute ago. Here you are acting like you’ve been living under a rock and no one’s paid you any attention lately, but I honestly don’t see how that’s possible. People as handsome as you are always going to get attention, whether they're looking for it or not. It’s just how things go.”

Dilan muttered under his breath, looking away.

“How did we arrive at this ridiculous topic to begin with?” he demanded.

“I was saying that people here in Radiant Garden are attractive.” Ama put her hat back on with an air of finality. “And I stand by that statement, thank you very much.”

Up the street, the construction process had evidently hit some kind of milestone. Tifa was visible head and shoulders over the crowd, as if standing on something, and bits and pieces of whatever announcement she was making drifted to them down the empty, soon-to-be street. Then Tifa stepped down, and Aerith appeared in her place, raising her normally soft voice to be heard over the chattering crowd.

“You know,” Ama said, after a bit, “as long as we’re on the subject, I have to ask...Are Ienzo and Aeleus dating? I’ve been wondering that lately. They seem like it, but I haven’t actually asked either of them. It’s embarrassing when you guess wrong.”

“I don’t know if I’d call it ‘dating,’” said Dilan. “But they’re something of a pair, as far as that goes. They have been for some time.”

“And how about Even? He seems very...mmm. How do I put this the right way...”

“His only passion is for science, as far as I’m aware. Though I’ve no desire to pry into it, one way or the other.”

“Of course. I was just curious.” She made a thoughtful noise. “Things are so different here that I didn’t want to assume anything. For all I knew, he could have been married.”

The idea of Even being married was so patently absurd that Dilan gave a barking laugh.

“What are you laughing about?” Ama asked curiously.

“Your audacity. It’s obvious now where Sora learned to involve himself so readily in other people’s personal business.”

“You make it sound like a bad thing.” She adjusted her hat. “People like to learn about other people, Dilan, it’s human nature. How else would you ever make any friends?”

“I’ve never seen much sense in that, to be frank. Friendship only invites betrayal.”

It was Ama’s turn to burst out laughing.

“What a thing to say! Heavens, Dilan. You must be a lot of fun at parties.” She shook her head, smiling. “But I suppose you’re going to tell me that you can’t remember the last time you went to a party?”

“As a matter of fact, I can’t. Until recently I’ve been completely preoccupied with work.” If one could call the pointless drudgery of the Organization ‘work,’ anyway. “And throwing parties was nowhere on our agenda. Nor making friends, for that matter.”

“I was joking. But it does sound like you haven’t gotten to have fun in a long time. One of these days we’ll have to throw a party around here so you can try and catch up.”

Why on earth was she blithering about all of this? Dilan wondered in irritation, as Ama adjusted her hat again. His frown did not put a dent in her amused expression.

“I don’t see why you’d concern yourself one way or the other with my social habits,” he told her. “And as for parties, if you’re wanting to goad me into helping plan some committee business along those lines, don’t bother. I’ve no interest in doing any such thing.”

Infuriatingly, she laughed again. Dilan couldn’t work out why, and made a discontented sort of growl, folding his arms tighter across his chest.

“What is it that’s so amusing?”

“You are, Dilan! You’re a card. I’ve never met someone who didn’t care for compliments  _ or _ love  _ or _ friends  _ or _ parties.”

“I never said I didn’t care for compliments,” Dilan grumbled, before he could stop himself.

They stared at each other, Dilan scowling, Ama with a faintly amused expression that made him scowl harder. She laughed and shook her head, putting one hand atop her hat so it wouldn’t slide off. Dilan, now thoroughly annoyed, straightened from where he’d been leaning against the fencepost.

“Enough of this pointless drivel,” he said firmly. “We’d do better to go make ourselves useful among the others. If we don’t pull our weight, yours will be the last house to be seen to.”

He muttered to himself as he stomped off towards the main worksite, not even waiting to make sure she was willing to follow.

Confounded woman. He’d forgotten what inscrutable mysteries they all were, and this one in particular was worse than average. If she weren’t doing some damn fool thing like poking at the Heartless or snooping where she didn’t belong, then she was being bewilderingly pleasant with no clear motive. Feeding anyone who stood still long enough, and volunteering for every project under the stars, and—and  _ complimenting _ people, of all things, right to their faces. Why say such profoundly absurd things? Was it a game to her, and if so, what was the prize? Or was being confusing a reward unto itself somehow? She certainly seemed to find entertainment in it.

“Dilan? You’re not upset, are you?”

Ama drew level with him, walking briskly to keep up with his longer stride.

“I was teasing a little just now, but I didn’t mean it unkindly. I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings.”

He nearly issued a correction about not having any of those, and caught himself just in time, snorting. He did have feelings again, didn’t he? But the jury was still out on whether that was an improvement.

“You’d have to do a far sight worse than that to upset me,” he said. “But I’d rather we stopped this nonsensical discussion in any case. There’s work to do, and plenty of it. Idle talk won’t raise any walls.”

He picked up the pace enough to put some distance between them, and instead of pushing herself to catch up, Ama stopped and fell behind, tugging at her hat with one hand. She kept a hand on her hat for a moment, watching him disappear into the outer edge of the crowd, tracking his tall frame as he navigated the sea of people. Then she shook her head and followed, trying not to smile.


	9. Chapter 9

Overnight, Radiant Garden became obsessed with its new construction project. Not only was it the biggest single undertaking the community had attempted in months, but Tifa’s bar in particular had taken on an almost mythical importance now that it was becoming reality. The bar would be the first establishment in town that hadn’t been built for purely practical reasons, and the allure of having a dedicated place to gather and socialize was especially strong after all the difficulties the settlers had faced. Tifa added an extra element of intrigue to the whole affair by announcing that the bar’s name wouldn’t be revealed until the grand opening, and a friendly betting pool sprang up around what it might be called. Despite constant prodding, no one could get the name out of either her or Scrooge McDuck, who was privy to the secret on account of being her principal investor.

“My bill is sealed,” Scrooge chuckled whenever someone tried to coax the secret out of him. “An’ rightly too. It’s nae good luck to say too much aboot a business venture before it’s up an’ runnin’. Wait ‘til we’ve got a roof an’ walls, won’t ye?”

Despite the general enthusiasm, progress was intermittent, hampered by the usual setbacks that plagued everything the Restoration Committee tried to do. After the first day of construction it rained just hard enough to put foundation work on hold, and then two days later everyone woke to find the initial framework on half the houses all knocked down and scattered, presumably by Heartless in the night. Merlin duly reinforced the magical wards around the construction site and added a few experimental ones for good measure, but they had to start from square one on several buildings nevertheless.

The daily cacophony of construction drifted even as far as the castle towers, and the apprentices took to keeping windows closed to dampen the noise. Still, the commotion was proof that their unusual houseguest’s stay was drawing near an end, and such evidence made it easier to tolerate Ama’s continued activities around the castle, which occasionally shot all the way past ‘helpful’ and landed squarely in the realm of ‘eccentric.’

Particularly memorable was the morning Dilan came downstairs to find her bustling back and forth between the kitchen and the courtyard, having cooked enough rice to throw a banquet, and now leaving piles of it out to sun-dry in baskets for reasons she was suspiciously vague about. By evening all of the dried-out rice had vanished, replaced by a huge earthenware crock set out by the back door, with Leona the chicken sitting guard atop it. Dilan’s casual inspection revealed the crock to be full of something that smelled strongly yeasty and looked like porridge—or rather, like porridge that someone had already eaten and then vomited back up. He opted not to inquire of her what rural delicacy this concoction was supposed to be (as there was a very real chance she would make him taste it), and thankfully, she did not bring it up herself, either. So the crock of mysterious rice goo remained stationed in the courtyard permanently, like some strange species of scarecrow.

Odd as this incident was, she immediately outdid herself by disappearing on an all-day trip to the Destiny Islands, courtesy of Cid’s weekly shuttle run to other worlds. In the evening she returned to the castle in higher spirits than usual (which was saying something indeed), bringing with her an enormous assortment of jars, boxes, and bags.

Again Dilan happened to be downstairs when she showed up with this delivery, and scowled at the mountain of objects teetering behind her after he answered the door.

“And what is all of this? I had thought you were only picking up a few clothes.”

“Oh, I did! And a bunch of other things for the house, too. But I also thought that as long as I was home, I might as well bring back a couple of things for the kitchen. Here, grab hold of this one, will you? There we go—”

“A couple of things for the kitchen” turned out to be a dozen potted transplants of tropical herbs from her garden, along with raw coconuts, dried anchovies, coconut oil, a huge burlap sack of rice, coconut cream, assorted roots and tubers, coconut meat, bags of dried mushrooms and fruits, coconut milk, and the  _ pièce de résistance:  _ a huge chest packed with frozen seafood, octopus and crab and shrimp and abalone and whole fish that gaped up at Dilan when he lifted the chest’s lid.

“You’re not keeping that in the kitchen,” he declared. “All the noise from town is maddening enough without having a lingering stench on top of it.”

“Oh, that shouldn’t be a problem at all. I had the whole thing enchanted down in town it so it will stay nice and cold.”

“That’s not the issue. I don’t care for seafood one whit. It tastes foul and smells fouler.”

“You can’t have had it fresh, then. It isn’t supposed to smell bad.” She patted the chest happily, as if it were a faithful dog. “And everything in here was caught just this morning. I picked it all out myself.”

“That’s all well and good, but I don’t want it in my kitchen. Keep it in your room, if it suits you.”

In the end she conceded to hiding the chest in the very back of the cellar, well out of contamination range of the kitchen proper, all the while insisting that Dilan didn’t know what he was talking about and that seafood was perfectly delicious. He couldn’t really blame her for having that opinion, given that she was from a world where fish was about the only culinary option available, but annoyingly, she took his distaste as a challenge to be overcome rather than a preference to be respected. Dinner that night centered around a flavorful stew of vegetables, tofu, and strategically small bits of seafood, which Dilan didn’t realize were there until he’d already admitted he liked it.

“See now, it’s not all bad,” Ama insisted. Dilan’s attempt to retract his opinion failed when he couldn’t help finishing the bowl, and in any case, the rest of the table would have outvoted him. Whatever her other faults, she hadn’t cooked a bad meal yet.

Food wasn’t the only thing Ama brought back from the islands, either. Immediately following her trip, she spent several evenings in a row sequestered upstairs with Ansem, and the others only discovered the reason when Dilan happened upon her in the kitchen after one of these visits. (Being that they both did most of the cooking and thus spent a lot of time in the kitchen, Dilan ran into her much more often than the others did, and was usually the first person to learn about whatever new devilry she was up to.)

Tonight she was drinking yuzu tea and shuffling through a heap of small ceramic tiles that she’d spread across the surface of the table. To his own surprise, Dilan thought he recognized the symbols on the tiles she was rearranging, and he stopped on his way past to inspect them more closely.

“Where did you get all this?” he asked her, reaching for a tile.

“I brought it from home the other day. This is a game called mahjong.” She sipped her tea. “My girlfriends and I get together every couple of weekends and have a little tournament—it’s lots of fun. I was starting to miss it, so I threw it in my luggage when I popped by the house. I thought I could teach people here how to play.”

Genuinely interested, Dilan picked up a couple of the tiles, turning them over to study their familiar designs.

“‘Mahjong,’ you call it? Hrm. It must differ from the game I learned, then. But they look similar enough.”

“You know how to play?” For once she sounded surprised by something he’d said, rather than the other way around. “How wonderful! And here I thought they didn’t have mahjong on this world at all. No one in town knew what on earth I was talking about when I brought it up.”

“It was a foreign game here, and never popular—nor called that, to begin with. I’m not surprised no one left here now knows it. I haven’t come across it in ages.”

After some discussion, they worked out that the game rules they each knew were broadly similar, though Ama’s version was more complicated, and her set included a couple of tiles that Dilan didn’t recognize. Still, it was close enough to be getting on with, and he couldn’t hide his begrudging interest in having stumbled upon such an obscure piece of the past. He even willingly helped her organize the dozens of tiles scattered across the tabletop, counting and sorting them to make sure none had gone missing.

“I’ve been trying to teach Mr. Ansem how to play,” Ama revealed, “and I could teach all of you too, if you wanted, before I move out. I think it would be good for Ansem to have an activity like this that he can do with other people—something that’s structured, you know, instead of just trying to hold a conversation. He’s not always comfortable talking, with his memory being what it is.”

“Hmph. How thoughtful of you.”

She did not react to his sarcasm, perhaps not even noticing it as such.

“Really, it can’t be healthy for him to just sit up there in his room and not see anyone most of the time. And he does seem to like these sort of things. The other day he showed me where he’s trying to teach one of his computers how to play chess, so I thought mahjong might interest him too.”

“This isn’t a simple game. It might well be over his head in his condition.”

“He has had trouble with all the rules, poor thing. But I’m sure he’ll get the hang of it if he just keeps at it. I’ve been writing it all down for him as we go.” The tiles clinked together as she absently stacked them into a large square, as if getting ready for a game against no one. “And anyway, I’ve been wanting to start a group to play with in town. Aerith and a few others said they’d be interested, and you really need four people for a proper match. Once I’ve got my own place set up, I think I’ll start hosting a little get-together...”

“That’s still coming along, I hope?” Dilan prodded. “Your living situation?”

“Oh yes. The whole committee’s being very nice about it, actually—they’re trying to get me fixed up as soon as possible. Hopefully by next Saturday they’ll have the roof up and I can start moving my things in.”

In fact Dilan had been the one to take Cid aside and make the argument that Ama deserved special priority (on account of all the help Sora had been to the committee), in the hopes that it would get her out of the castle sooner. It was reassuring to hear this had had some effect.

“So you’ll be leaving next week, I take it?” he asked, for confirmation.

“That’s the plan, if everything goes well. But don’t worry—I’ll still come back to visit all of the time. And of course, you’re all welcome to stop by whenever you like. Even Mr. Ansem, if he ever decides he wants to get out of the house for a bit.”

“Duly noted. Though you shouldn’t feel any obligation to visit us once you’ve gone.”

“And what if I’d like to?” She laughed, switching around a few of the tiles lined up in front of her, idly putting together a hand. “I wouldn’t feel ‘obligated,’ Dilan, goodness. I’d just be happy to see you all. Is that hard to believe?”

He muttered something, making her chuckle.

“You know, Dilan, I do realize it’s been inconvenient to have me staying here. But if you all have been wanting to make me unwelcome, you haven’t really been trying very hard. These past couple of weeks have been lovely.”

Dilan harrumphed, and for lack of anything better to do, starting pulling out tiles at random from the wall she’d built, making a row in front of him.

“Don’t exaggerate,” he told her. “You might well be the first person to ever say such a thing about keeping our company. ‘Lovely’ indeed...”

“I’m sorry. I forgot that you’re allergic to compliments.”

“I’m not al—Don’t start on that again, now.”

“You’re always so hard on yourself.” She plucked a new tile from the center of the table. “Really, Dilan. If you keep on with that attitude, I’m going have to do something drastic one of these days, like invite you to a party.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh yes, I would. A nice cozy dinner party, where you’d have to spend the whole evening meeting people and chatting and making new friends.”

“You’re mocking me, I take it.”

She smiled.

“That’s a harsh word, isn’t it? Let’s say I’m teasing a little. Much nicer.”

“And where do you get the gall to tease a man in his own home? You can invite me to anything you like, but I won’t be turning up.”

“Of course you won’t. Heaven forbid you ever accidentally enjoy yourself.”

Dilan grumbled under his breath as Ama hummed and rearranged her tiles.

His mental hunt for the perfect comeback was cut short by Ienzo and Aeleus passing through the kitchen in search of food, but unfortunately this interruption only further entrenched him in the situation. The sight of Dilan and Ama tending a herd of ceramic tiles was curious enough to warrant investigation, and Ama managed to convince the new arrivals to learn the game’s basics while they ate, which was agreed to more out of strategic courtesy than anything. She kept score on a piece of scrap paper as they played a simplified round.

“You’ve no idea what Sora’s up to, by any chance?” Ienzo asked her, when she mentioned him in passing—this question probably being his only reason for agreeing to the game in the first place.

“Not at the moment, no. I certainly wish I did.” Ama drew another tile from the wall. “I try not to worry about him, but it’s hard. I hope he and Riku and Kairi are looking out for each other, at least. I wonder if Kairi’s finished all of her training…”

“We’d be keen to learn how Sora’s faring,” said Ienzo, “if you hear back from him one of these days. Or learning what any of his friends are up to, as well.”

“Of course. As soon as I hear anything, you’ll all be the first to know.” Ama frowned over her hand of tiles. “If I had to guess, I’d guess that miss Aqua is still looking to get her friends back; that’s what she said she was doing when I met her. But I don’t know whether Sora and the others are helping her with that, or if they’re all doing different things at the moment. I know Sora’s going from world to world, at least.”

“They do seem to have quite a laundry list of things to take care of.”

“Yes, that’s what it sounded like when I went to Mr. Sid’s. No one was was very specific about it, but I think there’s a lot that they need to get done now that miss Aqua is around. And I can only imagine that Xehanort’s causing them all trouble somehow, too. I don’t see why he wouldn’t, it sounds like the only hobby that man has.”

When Even peered into the kitchen, he was greeted with the strange sight of the other three apprentices sitting around hands of tiles at the kitchen table, drinking tea and arguing the legality of some recent play. Ama only noticed him once she glanced up from tallying everyone’s scores.

“Oh, there you are, Even! I was wondering whether you’d come down at all. Have you had anything to eat today?”

“Of course I have.”

“Was it real food?”

His indignant answer didn’t convince her, and she stepped away from the game long enough to foist a reasonably balanced serving of leftovers onto him, ignoring his protests. Even when the echoes of his muttering had all but disappeared down the corridor, she didn’t look entirely satisfied, and sat back down at the table and rearranged her hand of tiles in light of the moves that had been made in her absence.

“You know,” Ienzo remarked, a cup of tea in one hand as he sorted his tiles, “you really don’t have to go out of your way to feed Even. If he was going to give himself scurvy, it would have happened years ago already.”

“Oh, I can’t help it. I don’t like to see people not eat well.” Ama discarded one of her tiles and drew another one from the wall. “I’m sure you worry too, don’t you, Ienzo? Your father really doesn’t take very good care of himself.”

Ienzo had just taken another drink of tea, and only barely saved himself from spitting it up onto his cravat. It almost went down the wrong pipe when he swallowed, initiating an intense coughing fit.

“I’m sorry?” he managed. “My what now?”

“Your father. Aren’t you adopted?”

Ienzo kept coughing. Aeleus carefully thumped him on the back, which seemed to do the trick.

“Did someone—tell you that?” Ienzo asked Ama hoarsely, when he’d recovered enough to speak.

“Oh, well—not in so many words, no…” She looked concerned by his sudden fit. “But Even was telling me the other day all about how you lost your parents when you were little. You poor dear. I had no idea.”

As she launched into the familiar story, Ienzo briefly closed his eyes, as if praying for patience.

“...no relatives at all, and then you came to the castle, and so Even started taking care of you from then on. Is that right? I don’t know, he certainly made it  _ sound  _ like you were adopted…”

Ienzo pinched the bridge of his nose. Aeleus said nothing, and though his expression stayed neutral, it was determinedly so. Dilan dared to look ever-so-slightly amused, even when Ienzo threw him a pointed look.

“...heartbreaking, isn’t it? And you were so young, too. But,” she sighed, “that’s life, sometimes. The worst happens, and you just have to make do with it. Though really, I should have put two and two together on my own, the two of you are so similar sometimes…”

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Ienzo began, trying to politely but firmly break through her rambling. Then he realized what she’d just said. “Pardon, what was that? I’m similar to whom, now?”

“You and Even.” Ama pointed at him with a tile held between two fingers. “You have some of the same...oh, I don’t know what you’d call it. Habits, I suppose—those little things that people pick up from their parents. You’ll both do the same pose when you’re thinking very hard about something, for example. Have you never noticed that?”

It took a non-negligible amount of effort for Ienzo to not appear visibly offended, and he looked to the other two at the table for reassurance. They were no help. Dilan only shrugged, his arms folded, and Aeleus wisely offered no reaction at all.

“There’s nothing wrong with being adopted, of course,” Ama continued encouragingly, perhaps mistaking Ienzo’s dismay for something else. “Why, I was going to adopt, if I couldn’t have Sora. And his friend Kairi—have you met Kairi? She’s adopted too, you know. The mayor and his wife took her in, they had been talking about having children for a couple of years anyway and then all of a sudden, the morning after that big meteor shower...”

With difficulty, Ienzo managed to forcibly wrench the conversation in another direction, but the sting of it lingered for hours. Late than night, as he and Aeleus read books side-by-side in bed with the lamp on, Ienzo’s usual silent concentration was punctuated by the occasional sigh or small, irritated noise, and eventually he realized that beside him, Aeleus was not reading at all, but rather watching him intently. Ienzo raised an eyebrow.

“Is something the matter, Aeleus?”

Aeleus returned attention to his book.

“You’re upset,” he said evenly, turning the page. “About earlier.”

Ienzo flipped to his own next page a little more forcefully than needed.

“I’m not  _ upset _ . Merely...annoyed.” He brushed at the long side of his hair. “Why did she jump to such an absurd conclusion? ‘Adopted,’ of all things...”

“It’s not an insult.”

“It is in this context. It’s not as if Lord Ansem apprenticed me for nothing.”

“You were very young.” Aeleus did not look at him, keeping his gaze on his book. “And you had nowhere else to go. He acted out of pity, at first.”

“I’m well aware of that, thank you. And that’s exactly why I don’t like it spoken about in that fashion. I don’t need pity—from that woman or from anyone else.”

Ienzo gave up trying to concentrate and set his book over on the nightstand, ever-so-slightly more emphatically than he might usually have.

“And even if one  _ were  _ to frame it that way...It was Ansem’s decision, and his alone. I’m frankly amazed that Even had the nerve to claim  _ he _ was my legal guardian. Of all the self-aggrandizing delusions...”

“I’m sure he didn’t say that. She only made assumptions.”

“Well, he clearly implied it, which is all that matters. He never had formal charge of me, whatever he liked to believe at the time. I’ll be having a word with him tomorrow about the tales he chooses to tell to outsiders.”

Aeleus did not react to this, and as Ienzo had been expecting at least a nod or murmur, he glanced up at Aeleus’s lamplit profile, scowling.

“Something you want to say, Aeleus?”

Aeleus left a thumb under his place in the book as he considered his reply. A breeze slipped through the gap in the opened window, rustling the top few pages.

“Even  _ was _ ordered to keep an eye on you,” he said at last. “You haven’t forgotten?”

“No, I haven’t forgotten—much as I’d rather. But he hardly did a commendable job, did he? And in any case, even if I did happen to spend most of my time around him, circumstantially speaking...The woman was being delusional earlier, wasn’t she? Because I don’t act like him in the slightest.”

“Not often, no.”

“Not _ often? _ What does that mean?”

Aeleus shrugged. Ienzo sighed through his nose.

“I hope you don’t think this is funny, Aeleus.”

“I only think you’re making too much of it. It was an honest mistake on her part. It won’t happen twice.”

“No, it won’t. I’ll see to that.” Ienzo sighed again, more heavily, leaning back against the bed’s wobbly headrest. The change of angle made moonlight from the window slant across his face. “I dealt with all this absurdity enough as a child. I doubt a single week ever went by without Even bragging to a stranger about how spectacularly orphaned I was.”

Absently he pushed his hair out of his right eye with one hand, though of course it fell back into place at once.

“Even is  _ not  _ my guardian. I don’t know how he could possibly justify giving her, or anyone else, that impression.”

Ienzo waited for the proper acknowledgement due from Aeleus, but Aeleus kept his attention fixed firmly on his book, and Ienzo threw him a sharp look, as if in admonishment. Aeleus didn’t acknowledge this either. Thwarted, Ienzo gave a clipped sigh and reached for the book he’d put aside the nightstand, diving back into it with a faintly annoyed expression.

Silence fell again. But Aeleus did not turn any more pages in his own book, his gaze unfocused in a way that proved he wasn’t reading. Ienzo noticed, but chose not to point it out, waiting instead for Aeleus to finally speak whatever was on his mind. When he did, his lowered voice seemed loud in the dim room, silent as it was.

“It wouldn’t hurt to talk to him more, Ienzo.”

Ienzo looked up, frowning. 

“Talk to whom? Even?”

“He did care about you, when you were small. We all did. It would be good to reconcile with him.”

“I’m not a child any longer, Aeleus. And even when I was, we were on more equal footing than he was ever comfortable with. Certainly we’re equals now.” He closed his book emphatically, leaving a hand inside. “If you’re trying to tell me that I should begin treating him like some kind of...mentor…for no reason other than ancient history, I’m afraid that’s out of the question. He’s never had power over me, and I see no reason to hand it to him now.”

“This isn’t about power, Ienzo.”

“Everything’s about power, Aeleus. Of one sort or another. I would think you of all people would understand that.”

A ripple of something passed through Aeleus’s set expression, as if he wanted to say something, but he refrained. Ienzo sighed and sat with the book closed in his lap, leaning back against the headboard and closing his eyes.

“When I was younger,” he asked, eyes still closed, “before...everything...Did you or any of the others see me in that light? As Even’s…”

He trailed off, as if he couldn’t find a descriptor (ward? son? protege?) that wouldn’t be too distasteful to actually say out loud.

“I think Even was trying his best with you,” Aeleus said. “He only wanted you to listen.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

He glanced up, reading the silent reply in Aeleus’s expression:  _ you won’t like the answer to the question.  _ Ienzo looked annoyed, and only relaxed after Aeleus slipped a hand onto the small of his back behind the headboard, massaging gently.

After a minute of this, Ienzo relented enough to lean against his head Aeleus’s shoulder—or rather, his upper arm, as he wasn’t quite tall enough to reach his shoulder. For a little while they both read Aeleus’s book, at least until Ienzo closed his eyes, and when he did Aeleus stopped rubbing his back. But he left his arm around him, letting him press close.

A spring breeze danced against the cracked windowpanes. This high in the castle, there was nothing to be seen or heard outside the dark windows; no trees rustled their leaves, nor were there any glimpses of the town below or lands surrounding. All that could be seen beyond the reflected glare of the lamplight was a faint moon, and of course a panoply of stars. They were the hearts of countless other worlds, shining their light across the great sea of darkness that isolated all worlds from one another, the constellations they formed tracing in the heavens a vast, glittering map of all the life in the universe. 

Neither Aeleus nor Ienzo noticed when one of the stars flickered and went out.


	10. Chapter 10

“Helloooo? Anybody in there?”

The man craned his neck to try and take in the front of Radiant Garden’s enormous castle, but this close up, it was impossible. The building loomed as a gargantuan stone-and-steel wall that blocked out most of the sky, the facade’s many wrecked and weatherworn mechanisms reflecting the late morning sunlight down into the courtyard where he stood.

A stiff breeze made the visitor clutch at the yellow bandanna hanging loose around his neck, and once the wind settled he took the bandanna off, retying it to be sure it was secure. Its bright color and pattern contrasted with the muted tones of his shirt, and also with his dark jacket, pants, and boots—these last two the only holdovers from the Organization uniform he had worn for half his life. But the bandanna’s bright yellow did nicely complement his unruly mane of equally bright red hair.

After another half minute with no response, Lea hammered his fist on the smaller, functional door cut at the base of the colossal, ornamental one, this time so forcefully that it hurt. He shook his hand out, wincing.

“Hey, I know you guys are home! Open up already, would ya?”

Still no reaction, except the hint of an echo off of all the stone around him, muddled by the distant symphony of hammering coming from the town behind and below.

A large brown chicken trotted into view from around a distant bend in the courtyard, hurrying up to see what all the fuss was about. Lea eyed it warily as it approached and circled him, like a guard dog inspecting the mailman.

“What’re you looking at?”

The chicken pecked twice at the toe of his boot, then flapped and launched itself up to land on a jutting piece of stonework, settling in to glare at him from this more convenient vantage point. Lea ignored it and made use of the heavy door knocker, but even its booming calls produced no answer from inside the castle.

“Sheesh. What’s a guy gotta do to get an audience around here?” He scratched at his hair, then sighed. “All right, fine. Guess we’re gonna have to do this the fun way.”

He took a step backwards and extended his arm as if readying to turn some invisible lever, his face screwing up with concentration. His Keyblade fitfully sputtered to life amid warm tongues of flame, and after a minute’s trial and error, he managed to send a beam of light from the Keyblade’s tip into the center of the castle door, making the whole surface sparkle. The satisfying sound of heavy locks unlatching themselves on the other side caused the Keyblade vanish again in a hissing spate of fire, so quickly that it didn’t look as if he’d purposely dismissed it—rather, it had simply decided to leave.

“Not too shabby, huh?” Lea said, pleased with himself. His audience clucked begrudgingly.

For etiquette’s sake, Lea tried knocking one last time. Apparently the commotion of the huge door unlocking itself had been enough to finally catch someone’s attention, because this time he thought he could hear noise from within. He pressed his ear to the door.

“—the nerve of it—what is all this infernal racket—”

Lea straightened just before the small door swung open inwards. Even looked particularly disheveled, as if he’d just wandered out of the lab after a day or two without sleep. They stared at each other.

“Yo,” said Lea.

Even slammed the door.

“Aaand here we go.” Lea sighed, then gave the door another insistent knock. “Hey, open up! I want in!”

“What makes you think you’re welcome here?” came the muffled reply.

“Do we really have to do this every time? Come on. Don’t I get—I dunno, diplomatic immunity or something?”

The door cracked open just wide enough to reveal a bright green eye.

“You have some extraordinary nerve trying to ingratiate yourself after what you did.”

“Is this about Castle Oblivion? Because I already told you, that was nothing personal. All right?”

“Is that supposed to be reassuring in some way?”

“Look, I know it was a dick move.” Lea spread his hands. “Seriously, I get it. So...hey, I’ll cover dinner for you guys tonight, how about that? Peace offering. I’ll make pizza.”

“You  _ set _ me on  _ fire!” _

“I’ll make two pizzas?”

“You arrogant, insolent, addle-pated reprobate—”

Lea zoned out, letting the haranguing go on for a while uninterrupted. Probably good to let him get some more of it out of his system.

“—lost what little brains you had if you think you can just waltz in here at the drop of a hat and expect to be catered to. I cannot believe—”

“Hey, I’m here on business, all right?” Lea finally cut in. “Keyblade stuff. Xehanort. All that jazz.”

That did the trick. The tirade abruptly ended, and then the door opened wide enough to fully reveal Even glaring from the depths of the cavernous foyer. Lea took the opportunity to squeeze past him, and Even spluttered, which Lea ignored as he wiped his boots and brushed travel dust off the front of his shirt and jacket.

“I didn’t invite you inside!”

“Put it on my tab.” The brightly-lit, tidy entryway impressed him, and he took a moment to admire it, fists on hips. “Say, you guys have been busy cleaning up, huh? Place actually looks pretty good. Way more homey than usual.”

“Why are you even here?” Even demanded, following Lea as he set off down the corridor. “Surely you’re meant to be off playing hero somewhere?”

“Yeah, well, they finally gave me and the princess a couple days off from hero training. Thought I’d use it to do a little detective work.”

Even did not stop complaining until they reached the kitchenette, where Ienzo sat reading an enormous old tome over the remains of breakfast while Aeleus did a crossword puzzle. The pair of them looked up as one, assessed Lea, and then looked at each other.

“We have a visitor,” Even announced sourly.

“Morning.” Lea nodded. “Long time no see, huh? You guys look like you’re doing all right.”

Everyone else stared at him.

“C’mon, no hellos for your old teammate? Tough crowd. You could at least pretend you’re glad to see me, y’know.”

“No one here is that talented of an actor,” Ienzo said, closing his book. “And what brings you back here out of the blue? I hope you’re not looking for a place to live if they’ve kicked you out of Keyblade class.”

“Hey, give me some credit. I’m still passing.” Lea ran a hand through his hair. “Actually, I’m here on business, if you wanna call it that. Any chance I could poke around this musty old place for a while?”

“Is there a reason we should let you?”

“Well, I  _ was  _ gonna fill you guys in on what’s been going on with Xehanort. But hey, if you really don’t care about any of that...”

These were the magic words. No one said anything at first, but the atmosphere shifted palpably, some of the tension disappearing as overwhelming curiosity took its place. Ienzo set his book aside.

“I suppose we wouldn’t be averse to that, no,” he was forced to admit.

“That’s more like it. Don’t get wound up about it, I’ll be outta your hair in no time. But first things first: you guys got anything to eat around here? I’m starving.”

Reluctantly, they allowed him to raid the fridge for leftovers. Lea wound up dunking stale bread crusts into a bowl of reheated soup as the apprentices sat in a cramped ring around him at the small table, all four of them looking varying degrees of annoyed (Dilan having arrived just as he was starting on the soup). Lea talked in between bites.

“So what’s with all that racket down in town?” He hit his chest with a fist to force a piece of bread down. “Didn’t go check it out, but it sounded like something big’s going on.”

“Construction,” Aeleus told him. “The Restoration Committee is rebuilding.”

“Really? Huh.” Lea tore a chunk of crust in half. “Well, good luck to ‘em, I guess. That’s gotta be a pain and a half. It’s not like there’s a whole lot left of this place to start from.”

He pointed across the table with the piece of crust.

“Has anything else been going on around here? I hadn’t heard anything through the grapevine, but I figured Sora might have swung by or something.”

“No, he hasn’t,” said Ienzo, “and neither has anyone else, for that matter. We haven’t heard a word about how broader events are unfolding since the last time you were here. What are all of you up to? What is Xehanort doing? Tell us everything.”

Lea tilted the soup bowl to better mop the bottom.

“Hey, hey, slow down. I can’t exactly tell you guys ‘everything,’ all right? Gotta keep it vague. Didn’t come here to spill the beans about all our secret good guy plans.”

“If you’re going to stay, you’re going to talk,” said Aeleus sternly. Lea swallowed another bite of food.

“Take it easy, big guy, I’m kidding. Sort of.”

He took his time with finishing his meal, and though the others all looked like they wanted him to speed up, no one harassed him directly. Instead they exchanged looks, wordlessly debating.

Lea was something of a dilemma for the four apprentices. Although a far cry from a friend, he was the only connection they had to the activities of the Keyblade wielders, and so far he’d proven willing to provide general information on said activities every once in awhile. Lea claimed this generosity was because he was a better person than Axel had been, which was doubtless true; after all, the apprentices had all experienced that same spiritual growth spurt upon finding themselves whole again. But it had also been obvious from day one that Lea’s attempts at diplomacy had mostly practical motivations. After all, it was in Lea’s best interest to try and reduce the number of people who mistrusted him—which initially had amounted to “absolutely everyone,” including the Keyblade wielders he’d signed up to help.

Not that the apprentices trusted him now—they certainly didn’t—but like it or not, they had to put up with him every so often in order to learn what was going on in the worlds at large. The fact that they tolerated Lea to any degree (or, given their shared history, the fact that he tolerated them either) was simply a mark of how absurd life had become since they’d all woken up on the floor a few weeks ago.

“Compliments to the chef,” Lea sighed, when he finally pushed his bowl away. “Good stuff. Wish we ate like that at the tower.”

“I take it the so-called ‘Keyblade War’ situation isn’t dire,” Ienzo observed. “Otherwise you’d surely have something productive to do instead of coming all the way out here.”

“Hey, it’s not all training exercises and campfire songs, y’know. We stay plenty busy.”

“Busy with what, exactly? Have you encountered Xehanort?”

“You’re gonna have to narrow that down.” Lea leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his neck and interlocking his fingers. “You mean you guys’ Xehanort? Lab coat guy? No. We’re not sure he’s even out there right now—that whole thing with Terra is seriously screwy. Best guess is that it’s the old man who’s back in his own body and pulling the strings, but no one’s actually seen him, so we dunno for sure. I think Master Aqua’s been out looking for clues, though, when she can. She’s definitely off doing something when she’s not giving me and the princess extra lessons.”

“So you haven’t seen anything of Xehanort since the incident in the Realm of Sleep?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Lea sounded cagey, as if unsure of how specific he should get. “I’d say we’re just not a hundred percent sure what he’s up to, that’s all. He’s definitely been stirring up trouble here and there.”

“And your cohorts don’t have any theories about his intentions?” Even pressed.

“Well…” Lea paused, visibly deliberating with whether to say more, then relented—perhaps because he was only sharing speculation instead of facts. “Actually, Master Yen Sid thinks that Xehanort might still be short one guy on his side. They tried to kidnap Sora and make him the last dark vessel, remember? But I stopped ‘em, and we dunno if they’ve gone and filled that empty slot just yet. I bet you ol’ baldy wants to make sure all his chess pieces are lined up nice and neat before he makes his next big move. He already tried jumping the gun once, and it backfired on him.”

“But why would they hesitate?” Dilan asked. “If Xehanort is really so keen on having enough ‘vessels,’ surely anyone off the street would do?”

Lea shrugged.

“Maybe, maybe not. I don’t have a clue how the old guy thinks. The only one who does is Yen Sid, and he only trusts Master Aqua with his guesses. But he did say that if Xehanort had all thirteen guys lined up and ready to go, he probably would have started something in person by now, instead of keeping himself out of the spotlight.”

“So he still lacks his final conspirator.”

“Maybe. Or maybe he did snag somebody, and now they’re all busy setting another trap or something. Seems like that’s their style. His style. Whatever.”

Everyone pondered this as Lea cricked his neck, wincing when the late morning sun coming through the kitchen window fell directly in his eyes. He scooted his chair to dodge it.

“I would assume,” said Ienzo, “from what you’ve told us before, that Xehanort would have incentive to seek out the Princesses of Heart, as his Heartless once did. Has that been a concern?”

“Don’t ask me.” Lea shrugged again. “The masters don’t exactly invite yours truly to all the high-level strategy meetings. But...I think they’ve been going around warning the princesses about Xehanort, and telling ‘em to start keeping a lookout. ‘Course, even if Xehanort did nab ‘em all again, he’d still be one short unless he got ahold of Kairi too. And she can take care of herself—I’ve got the bruises to prove it.”

He reflexively rubbed at his ribcage beneath his jacket.

“But seriously, I can’t tell you guys all the ins and outs right now. I’m here on personal business, anyways.”

“Enlighten us, then,” Even said testily. “What is this so-called personal business of yours?”

Lea’s expression darkened. He pushed his empty soup bowl even further away so that he could set his elbows on the table, his brow furrowing.

“I’m still looking for Isa,” he said at last. “I’ve been keeping an eye out for him for a while now, but no luck. And nobody else in our camp has seen him around, either.”

“Given up on Roxas, have you?” Dilan asked. Lea glared.

“There’s not a whole lot I can do for Roxas right now,” he admitted. He gestured, elbow still rooted to the table. “But the thing is, at least I know where he is. He’s with Sora—and that means he’s safe, unless Sora gets in way over his head. Isa, though? I still don’t have a clue where he wound up. He should have recompleted with all the rest of us, right? But he wasn’t there when we woke up that day. Something’s seriously fishy.”

“What’s there to wonder about?” asked Even. “The man’s an accomplice of Xehanort’s.”

“Yeah, but he never wanted to be. Not the Isa I knew.”

Lea leaned back to scowl at the ceiling, his jacket rustling.

“You all can say what you want, but I’ve known that guy my whole life. And when me and Isa first joined the Organization together, we had a plan. We promised each other than we were gonna figure out what Xemnas was really up to and throw a wrench in it, big time. And we stuck to that promise...for a while.” He sighed grimly. “Point is, there’s a chance that Isa’s not on Team Eternal Darkness by choice. But I won’t know for sure unless I find him. I figure here’s as good a place as any to start looking.”

He straightened up.

“What about you guys, huh? Aren’t you curious about where your pal Braig’s at these days?”

The name sent discomfort rippling through the rest of the table.

“Define ‘curious,” Dilan growled, crossing his arms. “Certainly I’d love to have a word with him about his…life choices.”

“Yeah, well, he’s alive and kicking, I can tell you that much. Riku and I ran into him not that long ago.”

This sparked sudden interest.

“You saw Braig?” Aeleus asked. “Where was he? And what was he doing?”

“Being a jackass, what do you expect? He made fun of us and tried to shoot me in the head.” Lea pantomimed this action with two fingers. “Didn’t put up a real fight, though—just scampered off. Spying on us, I guess. Xehanort’s gotta want to keep tabs on the other team now that his big plan’s finally starting to come together.”

“Where did this happen?” Ienzo asked. “And why were you and Riku together? What were you both doing?”

“Sorry, can’t give you the fine print on that one. Just take my word for it. Braig’s back together again, same as all of us here.”

“So he did recomplete after all…” Dilan mused.

“Yup. And seeing him is what got me started on hunting around for Isa again. I had been thinking that he hadn’t recompleted in the first place...but if Braig did, then I bet you anything Isa did too. I’ve just gotta find him, is all.”

“But neither of them reappeared here with us,” Ienzo said. “We searched high and low for them that first day.”

“Maybe they didn’t recomplete here, yeah. Maybe they popped up somewhere else. But there still might be clues lying around, y’know? Can’t hurt to check.”

“We’ve seen no evidence of such a thing this whole time,” Even insisted, but Lea ignored him, instead frowning and scratching his chin.

“Actually, now that I’m thinking about it...Have any Nobodies shown up around here lately?”

“Nobodies?” asked Aeleus.

“Yeah, like Dusks and all those guys. You had any problems with them?”

“Not at all,” said Ienzo. “We haven’t seen a single one. Why?”

“Really?” Lea looked surprised. “So what about the Heartless, then?”

“What about them?” asked Dilan. “We’ve always had those to deal with.”

“Yeah, but have they gotten any worse since last time I swung by?”

“A bit. But nothing we haven’t been able to handle so far.”

“Hmm…” Lea rubbed his chin, unusually thoughtful. “Well, that’s...interesting. No Nobodies, same old Heartless...What about any other monsters, huh?”

“What do you mean?” asked Even. “What  _ other monsters  _ could there possibly be?”

“I’ll take that as a no.” Lea considered. “Well, well...Seems like things really  _ are _ nice and quiet around here. Maybe old Xehanort doesn’t even have his eye on this place. Guess that means there’s nothing left here that he’s interested in...”

“Do you mean to imply,” said Ienzo, “that circumstances are worsening elsewhere? Is Xehanort making incursions onto other worlds using the Heartless? Are the Nobodies still under his command in some way?”

Lea paused, deciding whether to answer, and then offered only a shrug.

“It’s not really important, if things are quiet here. Just—keep your eyes peeled, I guess. Never know what could happen.”

Before anyone could argue with this, Lea sat up and twisted around in his chair, looking for the source of a noise that had come from behind him. In the doorway, Ansem the Wise froze, holding an empty plate and mug. 

“Pardon me. I was only returning…” He trailed off, his lined brow furrowing as he stared at Lea, trying to work out who he was. “Ah. A...visitor, I suppose?”

He turned away, visibly uncomfortable at having stumbled upon so many people at once, and busied himself with making tea at the stove. The enchanted kettle took no time at all to come to boiling, and Lea watched Ansem curiously, then looked back at the apprentices.

“Did I miss a memo?” he asked in a lowered voice. “When’d you let that guy outta the doghouse?”

“Have we met?” came Ansem’s voice over his shoulder. “Forgive me, I don’t seem to recall…”

“Don’t worry about it, gramps. I’m just passing through.”

Ansem took this in stride, muttering to himself as he stirred milk into his tea. The others all watched him silently, as if he were a particularly exotic and skittish zoo animal that rarely left its enclosure, and when he finally departed the kitchen it felt as if they’d all been holding their breaths. Lea actually sighed.

“So...I guess that guy’s still out of it?” He tapped his temple to clarify the question. “Still doesn’t remember anything?”

“It doesn’t seem so, no,” said Ienzo crisply.

Lea leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his neck again so that his elbows stuck out to either side. He looked as if he wanted to ask the obvious follow-up question ( _ “so what are you guys gonna do if he does remember?”) _ , but refrained, instead returning the discussion to its previous topic.

“Aaanyways...That’s the main reason I came out here. Looking for info about Isa. I’ll have to get back to boot camp in a couple of days, but I figure that’s enough time to scrub this place for clues.”

“I don’t know what you expect to find,” said Even. “It’s not as if there was any sign of your friend here before. And none of us has noticed anything in all this time.”

“You got any better ideas?”

“You could leave, and never show your face here again.”

“Thanks, I’ll get right on that.”

He pushed his chair back as if to sarcastically pretend to leave, but in so doing nearly knocked into yet another person entering the cramped kitchen from the corridor. Ama stopped short at the sight of him.

“Sorry about that, I wasn’t looking where I was g—Oh! Hello there. I didn’t realize we had company over. Who are you?”

But she didn’t even give him time to answer.

“I know I’ve seen that hair somewhere before...Hold on, you’re Leeroy, aren’t you? Kairi’s training partner! What a surprise. When did you get into town?”

“My name’s L _ — _ wait.” Lea had to manually process this; it was the first time he’d been called a wrong name that wasn’t ‘Axel.’ “It’s just Lea, thanks. And you’re...Hang on a sec.”

He finally recognized her and started, looking from the apprentices to Ama and back again in a couple of bewildered loops.

“Okay, hold up.” He made a time-out gesture, aimed at the rest of the table. “Seriously, did I miss a memo? Was there a meeting? Because this is starting to weird me out.”

“I had no idea you were coming by! How is everything over at Mr. Sid’s? How is Kairi doing?”

“She’s, uh...she’s good, I guess...”

“Have you found Ventus yet?”

“What?”

“That boy Ventus. Miss Aqua’s still looking for him, isn’t she? And her friend Terra, too. How is all of that coming along? Has she had any luck?”

“I’m…” Lea looked taken aback. “Yeah, she’s looking for that Ven kid, I think. Look, er, I’m just stopping by for a day or two. It’s not really a big—”

“You’re staying the night? Wonderful! We haven’t had any guests since the tower was cleaned up, so you’ll have first pick of whichever room you like. If I’d known you were coming, I would have done another load of laundry, I don’t think we have any clean towels...Hold on, let me go check. If not I’ll throw some in the wash—”

As quickly as she’d arrived, she was gone. Lea sat stunned, blinking.

“Am I losing it,” he ventured, “or was that Sora’s mom just now?”

“It was,” said Ienzo.

“Oookay then. So, uh...Did you guys, like...kidnap her, or...”

“Why would you think that? No. She’s just living here temporarily until they finish building the new section of town.”

“How the heck did you pull that off?”

“It was hardly our idea,” Even sniffed. “And you’re more than welcome to cart her away with you, if you can manage it. So far we can’t get her to leave.”

Lea blinked at the empty doorway where Ama had disappeared, then shook his head.

“So then...The old guy’s wandering around on his own, and Sora’s mom’s the new maid. Man, what a trip. I thought you said nothing interesting was going on around here?”

“She’s not a maid,” Even insisted. “We don’t pay her. She’s just sort of...around.”

“Still sounds like you guys are having plenty of fun without me.”

Ama reappeared, carrying a hamper full of linens.

“Good news—there’s towels already done. Are you having dinner here tonight, Leeroy?”

“It’s Lea. Er...yeah, I guess I am. I was gonna make pizza...”

“Oh, no, that’s all right! We’ll take care of it.” She set the hamper on the counter so that she could adjust her short ponytail. “Do you have a preference for which floor you want your room on? I can go ahead and wash the sheets, if they feel like they need it. Which direction do you want your window to face?”

“Uh...Wherever, I guess? I don’t really care...”

“Well then, come along upstairs. I’ll show you around the tower and we’ll get you sorted out. It’s so good to see you again! I know we didn’t get to talk at all before, you’ll have to tell me all about how you and Kairi have been doing with your training...”

Chattering happily, she coaxed Lea out of his seat and ushered him away in front of her, like a sheepdog herding a cow along. A contemplative silence hung in the kitchen in the wake of Lea’s swift kidnapping.

“The weather’s been fair lately,” Dilan finally said, for the sake of argument. “We could make him sleep outside.”

“A tempting option,” Ienzo admitted. “But difficult to execute. I think Ama would notice.”

“Do we really suppose he’s here to search for clues about his friend? It seems a flimsy pretext.”

“We won’t know unless we observe him.” Ienzo touched a hand to his chin. “I have a feeling that discerning his true motives might be as difficult as it’s always been.”

“That’s no excuse not to try,” Even insisted. “How else are we supposed to know what’s happening? If he’s dim-witted enough to throw himself into danger, we might as well make good use of it, and learn everything we possibly can.”

“There’s the rub,” said Dilan. He shook his head, rattling his hair. “I never thought I’d see the day when  _ he _ , of all people, would become the most reliable source of information. A sad state of affairs if there ever was one.”

Ienzo sighed and brushed at his cravat.

“It’s certainly rather...inconvenient. But with any luck, we can wring something useful out of him this time around. He sounds as if he knows more than he’s telling.”

“What we ought to do is charge him a fee,” Even griped, “since it’s clear that this castle is turning into a hotel.”

They all brooded. There was, of course, no temptation among them to do what Lea had done and involve themselves in the Xehanort situation directly; in recompleting they had accidentally achieved the old Organization’s only ostensible goal, and the darkness was no longer an ally they could safely summon to travel off-world. But sticking their heads in the sand and ignoring it all was an equally unpalatable option. The many unsettling truths they had learned since recompleting—about people and situations they thought they’d understood and been in control of—was too much to walk away from. So here they were, stuck getting occasional bits of news from Lea, of all people, who had never been one of their own. It was a frustrating position to be left in.

“Hopefully he won’t hang around long,” Even said. “And to be frank, I almost wouldn’t mind if he has little to say. It’s been one surprise after another lately, and none of them pleasant.”

“We can’t press him,” Aeleus pointed out. “If we do, he’ll leave us with nothing. We should be cautious, until we’ve learned all we can.”

“And after  _ that,  _ we can throw him outside.”

Ienzo sat forward, and somewhat unconsciously, the others all looked to him for the final verdict on the situation.

“Aeleus is right that we can’t be too...intimidating,” he admitted. “But fortunately, I think our other visitor will be of assistance on that point.” He held his chin. “I’m interested to hear more about Braig, in particular. I’d like to know what scheme he thinks he’s running.”

No one else offered commentary; Braig was a touchy subject. But it was also clear without any debate that Ienzo had a point regarding Ama. She was more theoretically entitled to information than they were, and would surely pester Lea until she got it; the four of them simply needed to be present for the interrogation. In which case, all they probably had to do was wait for dinner.


	11. Chapter 11

Dinner did not include pizza, though Lea still prepped some dough as a show of good faith, claiming it needed to rise overnight in the fridge anyway. The novelty of having company over was exciting enough to make Ama drag Ansem the Wise down to dinner too, and the increased headcount forced them to swap out the usual kitchen table for a larger one so that everyone could fit, though no one had much elbow room in consequence. As the guest of honor (or at least, as the guest), Lea was persuaded by Ama to sit at the head of the table, though this position meant that he spent most of the meal trying to ward off third and fourth helpings.

“Sorry, lady, I’m stuffed. Can’t eat another bite.”

“You need to try.” Ama eyed Lea like a vet sizing up a sick horse, and even pinched his upper arm through his jacket. “Heavens, look at you, you’re practically skin and bones. They obviously aren’t feeding you enough at Mr. Sid’s. I suppose poor Kairi is just wasting away to nothing, too...You’ll have to take some food back with you when you leave.”

“We’re doin’ fine, I swear.”

He winced and rubbed his pinched arm as she went to grab a pot off the stove.

“Is she always like this?” he asked the others, exasperated.

At the opposite end of the table from Lea sat Ansem the Wise, though he seemed almost as uncomfortable with being there as the others were with having him. Everyone except Ama acted more or less as if he weren’t there, and Ansem himself hardly said a word, except to ask for something to be passed down to him once in awhile. Aeleus, sitting nearby, did endeavor to keep an eye on him, and passed food along if Ansem looked like he was interested in it, but no one made an effort to pull him into the general conversation. Instead Ansem alternated between focusing on his food and listening to the others’ talk with mild but obvious concentration, trying to make some sense of what was being discussed.

Ienzo had been right about how this meal would unfold. Normally a visit from Lea would have necessitated a wary, probing dialogue between him and the apprentices, each side trying to engage with the other and extract information without pressing too many of the wrong buttons, but tonight, all such techniques had been jettisoned. All the apprentices had to do was sit back, enjoy their food, and watch Ama do all of their work for them, with gusto.

“But you have to know _something,”_ she insisted, poking Lea’s shoulder with the bread basket before passing it to him. “When was the last time Sora came by the tower? And what about Riku—how is he? Aren’t he and Mickey out doing something together? He wasn’t around when I visited, but I know they said something about miss Aqua giving him an important job to do…”

Lea wearily selected a dinner roll.

“Look, lady, I don’t know the masters’ whole plan. And even if I did, I couldn’t tell you, all right? We’ve gotta keep our cards close in case Xehanort decides to show up.”

“I wish he would, frankly. I’d give that man a piece of my mind.” She zealously buttered her own dinner roll. “But you can’t blame us for wanting to know what’s been going on out there. Here I thought if I left the islands, I’d get to keep up with Sora a little better, but that boy just never sits still...”

“One wonders where he got that from,” said Dilan dryly; Ama didn’t notice.

Lea managed to hold relatively firm against her barrage of constant questions, though the others weren’t sure whether this was because of willpower or because he genuinely didn’t know the answers half the time. Still, her interrogation did pry out of him the fact that he had once been friends with Roxas, and this tidbit fascinated Ama to no end, despite how reluctant Lea was to say anything on the subject.

“When you get a chance,” she told him, “you’ll have to tell me all about what Roxas was like. I know you have plenty of other things to worry about right now, but still...That whole thing is just so strange. And interesting. I would have liked to meet Roxas myself, before he went...well, wherever it is he went.”

Lea leaned back in his chair.

“Roxas was a good kid,” he said evasively. “Is. But...I’m trying not to worry about him too much. He’s with Sora, so, y’know...he’s okay for now.”

Ama nodded, but the rest of the table (having known Lea for much longer, if in a prior and even less trustworthy incarnation) immediately picked up on how insincere he sounded. Lea looked uncomfortable, and pushed his plate away to give himself elbow room, folding his arms across the tabletop and changing the subject.

He managed to distract Ama for a while with talk of the training regimen at the tower, or more specifically about Kairi’s progress. Apparently the girl had a knack for certain aspects of using the Keyblade that Riku and Sora didn’t, since she had no bad habits to unlearn from years of self-taught wielding or, as in Lea’s case, years of wielding a different style of weapon entirely. In particular, Kairi had shown an aptitude for transforming the Keyblade into other forms (a skill normally pursued only by masters once they had perfected their technique with the blade itself), and Ama was enthralled by even the most trivial of Kairi’s achievements.

“Her parents will be _so_ proud. The next time I’m in town I’ll have to tell them all about how she’s doing. I tried to fill them in a little bit before I left, on top of what she’d told them, but of course it’s a lot to take in...”

As they ate, Lea tried more than once to appeal to the rest of the table in order to get Ama to shift her attention away from him, but if anything, the others only reiterated her questions. Eventually he resorted to not saying anything at all when Ama went off on a tangent, but despite this, she always brought her attention around to him again after a few minutes, even if he hadn’t done anything in the interim.

“So, you’re here looking for your friend, I heard?” she asked, after coming back around from telling some anecdote about Kairi and the others. “Your friend ‘Isa.’ He’s working with Xehanort, is that right?”

“As far as I know. Er...How come you know that, though?”

“Well, it’s not really a secret, is it? The kids have told me the gist of everything that’s happened so far—well, everything about Xehanort, mostly. He seems to be the center of attention these days.” She studied Lea curiously. “I guess you’re going to try and knock some sense into your friend when you find him?”

“If I can. But finding him’s gonna be the hard part.” Lea scratched at his temple. “And...Look, can we just...table all that for now? I don’t really wanna go into it. Y’know. It’s personal business.”

Ama looked puzzled, as if this concept did not immediately ring a bell with her. She rested a hand on her chin.

“Mm, I suppose it _is_ your business, but...Well, from my point of view, coming into this whole thing late like I have, I really don’t see what good it does to keep close about it.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“Well, you know. From everything I’ve heard—and goodness knows I haven’t heard all of it—but it sounds like the reason that Xehanort’s gotten to do half the things he’s done is because no one else ever really talked to each other. He’s been running around causing all this trouble for so long, but miss Aqua made it sound like nobody put the pieces together about it until she came back home and started sorting things out. And if Xehanort’s gone and turned himself into a whole team of people these days, then I can only suppose he’s going to be more trouble now than he’s ever been before.”

She looked thoughtful, and tapped the rim of her plate with the tip of her chopsticks.

“I can’t pretend like I understand all the details about what it is he’s after. ‘Kingdom Hearts’ or the ‘χ-Blade,’ or—any of it, really. Frankly all of that is a little over my head. But I _do_ understand that if he gets what he wants, the rest of us are going to have a very bad time of it, if we make it through at all.”

“The whole Xehanort thing’s pretty complicated,” Lea admitted. “Still tryin’ to get my head around it myself.”

“It is. But on the other hand, when you boil it down, there’s really just two sides to it, aren’t there? Xehanort, and everybody else who isn’t Xehanort. So I think that all of us who aren’t Xehanort should do whatever we can to help each other out. And,” she added, “if there’s anyone who’s Xehanort who doesn’t want to be Xehanort, we ought to try and help them, if there’s a way to do that. Like miss Aqua’s friend, and your friend too.”

She patted Lea’s arm.

“I don’t know your friend Isa, of course. But I do hope you find him. And if there’s anything we can do to help you with him, let us know.”

Lea didn’t seem to know how to react to this and looked away, scratching at the back of his head through his voluminous hair.

“Er...thanks, lady. I guess.” He shrugged. “I dunno how you’d be able to help, exactly, but I’m lookin’ for clues about Isa. So I guess, if you ever come across anything...”

“Clues? What kind of clues?”

Lea shrugged again.

“Just lookin’ for any sign of him, really. Here or wherever else. He should have turned up here with the rest of us a few weeks ago, when we all recomp—”

Someone kicked him under the table. He made a winded sort of _hurk_ noise.

“Lea? Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he wheezed, tears in his eyes. He glared at the rest of the table, but as all four apprentices were equally irritated, it was impossible to guess the culprit.

“What were you saying?” Ama asked him.

“Nothing. Just...I’m tryin’ to pick up Isa’s trail, that’s all.”

He glared at the others, his question silent but readable: _doesn’t she know already?_ The annoyed looks he got in response answered the question, and he reached beneath the table to rub his shin, grimacing.

“Do you have any leads?” Ama asked. “I mean, have you seen your friend on some other world, or anything like that?”

“Leads? No...at least, no good ones. Kind of at a dead end—that’s why I came here. Might sweep the computer lab again after dinner, but after that, I’m stuck. Can’t exactly put up posters or anything...”

“Why bother going to the lab again?” Even interrupted from across the table. “There’s nothing there to be seen. We’ve told you that already.”

“Hey, you can’t blame me for wanting to double-check, all right? Maybe you guys missed a spot. Maybe I missed a spot. Who knows.”

“Have you checked the security cameras?”

The whole table turned to look at Ansem the Wise, who appeared only mildly interested in his own suggestion, as if he hadn’t been following the conversation closely. Everyone’s collective attention unnerved him, and he quickly went back to cutting vegetables on his plate, avoiding all eye contact.

“What’d you say, gramps?” Lea asked, leaning forward. “Security cameras?”

“In...the computer lab.” Ansem struggled to cut a still-crunchy piece of roasted carrot. “There is a closed security system that stores its data on the local mainframe. I’ve never taken a look at it, but I noticed it was there, and intact. If you’re looking for information of some kind…”

“Hang on a minute.” Lea sat up straighter. “So you’re saying there could be like...tape recordings or something? How far back does all that stuff go?”

“I’ve no idea. But I would guess that the system would keep at least a few weeks’ worth of footage before it starts overwriting old data. I’ve never taken a look at it.”

“Surely the security system’s no longer operating?” Ienzo interjected. “After all, the lab’s not been in use for years.”

“The Restoration Committee makes use of it,” said Dilan, “and frequently, at that. They very well might have maintained the system for their own ends.”

“What does it matter?” Even argued. “Even if there’s footage going back years, what are the chances that Isa has paid a visit? How might he have come by here to begin with?”

“I just wanna take a look,” said Lea.

“And why the fixation, dare I ask?”

“Because,” said Lea firmly, “this castle is the last place I know for sure that Isa was in one piece. Even if it was a long time ago.”

He gave the four apprentices a pointed look, then reached for his drinking glass.

“Security cameras, huh? Well, I guess that settles what’s for dessert.”

* * *

In the end, everybody filed into the computer lab, even Ama, who had no reason to be there other than general curiosity. (They did, of course, try to stop her, but it was obvious she would stand outside the door listening even if they kicked her out, so there was not much point trying to do so.) Everyone gathered near the entrance except Ansem, who busied himself with the main computer terminal, and Lea, who paced the metal room and peered into every corner, as if he might find some new and obvious hint towards Isa’s location, like graffiti scratched into the wall. There was, of course, nothing to find, and soon he gave up and stood behind Ansem with folded arms, watching him fiddle with the terminal.

Instinctively, everyone stayed well away from the double-doors on the far side of the lab that led down towards the floor of the Heartless manufactory (and by extension, to the basement). The doors and everything beyond had once been protected by several layers of security, both technological and magical, but Master Aqua had made short work of all of it in the process of tracking down her Keyblade and armor. No one had gone down to the basement since her fateful visit, and no one particularly wanted to. Now that the Chamber of Repose had been robbed of its mystery, there was nothing left down there but memories.

The only person whose curiosity didn’t have a concerned element to it was Ama. She had seen the computer lab before, but it still impressed her, and instead of watching Ansem power up the system, she instead looked every which way to admire all of the machinery, even pressing her face to the window glass to peer out at the dim vastness of the deactivated Heartless manufactory, heedless of what it was.

“How’s it coming, gramps?” Lea asked. Ansem flipped a switch, and at once every monitor and control panel across the room lit up, like a surge of untimely Christmas lights. A mechanical voice filtered through the many speakers: pleasant, yet firm. Its speech was accompanied by a warbling blue waveform on every monitor.

 _“System has detected a non-standard access attempt,”_ said the computer. “Input user credentials to proceed.”

A password screen blazed into view on the largest central monitor. Lea blinked at it, then looked over at the crowd in the doorway, gesturing.

“A little help here, you guys. What’s the password to this thing?”

But Ansem seemed to know it, because he was already carefully typing.

“Which access program is this, might I ask?” he inquired of the system. The waveform illustration vibrated as the computer answered.

“I am program designation Tron, the master control for the Hollow Bastion OS.”

Ama’s eyes lit up.

“Oooh, so that’s Tron! Sora told me about him. He lives... _inside_ the computer?”

Fascinated, she reached over and tapped the nearest console, as if tapping a stranger on the shoulder to get their attention. In doing so she pressed a few random buttons, which each changed color. Dilan quickly pulled her hand away.

“Let’s have none of that,” he growled, and none-too-gently nudged her out of reach of the panels to prevent further sabotage.

“User profile validated,” Tron was saying. “Access granted to all system functions.”

“Cool.” Lea stepped forward, taking Ansem’s place directly in front of the main console, though he seemed unsure of how to interact with it. He reached out as if to touch the keyboard, then thought better of it and simply spoke at the glowing screen. It was rather odd for the others, watching him talk and gesture in the middle of the room as if to an invisible audience. “Hey there, uh—computer guy. Tron, right? How do we look for info that’s on the system? We’re trying to track something down.”

“I can efficiently query and retrieve any data stored on this mainframe,” Tron said proudly, if such a thing were possible for a computer program. “What data would you users like to work with today?”

“We wanna go through all the records from the security system in this room. Y’know, camera footage and stuff. See if a certain somebody’s been by lately.”

“Understood. I’ll bring up the data at once.”

The voice waveforms on all the screens went flat, and Lea stepped back, looking up at the conglomeration of monitors, terminals, and wires with a new appreciation.

“You built this whole rig, huh, gramps?” he said to Ansem over his shoulder. “Nice going. Seems like some seriously fancy stuff.”

“I did?” Ansem asked. He rubbed his forehead, frowning at the wall of monitors. The room turned slightly more bluish as the waveform reappeared on every screen but the main one.

“I’m sorry,” came Tron’s voice, “but it appears that all of this room’s surveillance cameras have been damaged externally. All of the visual data in the security archive is identical.”

A window popped up on the main monitor filled with a silent snowfall of static, presumably the only image the broken cameras had been generating for a long time.

“Nothing?” Lea sighed. “Knew that had to be too easy. Tough luck, I guess.”

“Would you like to review the audio data instead?”

“‘Scuse me?”

The bright waveform of Tron’s digitally-generated voice rippled on all the surrounding monitors, making the shadows in the room grow and shrink along with his words.

“The security system’s audio circuits do not appear to be critically damaged. If you like, I could bring up all of the audio data that the system has stored.”

“Audio data, huh? How far back does it go?”

“The security system default is three months. Retrieving data file now...”

Tron’s voice waveform went flat again. Lea looked over at the group gathered near the doorway, offering up a wry shrug, as if admitting that he hardly knew what he was doing. A bar appeared on one of the monitors, filling quickly.

“Data compiled,” Tron announced, and another window popped up on the main terminal. “The uncompressed security file is approximately two thousand, one hundred and seventy-eight hours of audio. Would you like to play it from the beginning?”

“Hang on a second.” Lea pulled a face, staring at the frozen waveform that now took up the whole main monitor—a visual representation of the massive audio file’s contents. “I don’t really have that kinda time. Can’t you, uh...narrow it down, or something?”

Lea seemed stumped, but the nearby Ansem looked suddenly interested, and pulled on Lea’s sleeve to get his attention. Lea stepped aside, allowing him access to the console.

“Tron,” Ansem said, "if you would...Sample out a portion of the log with minimal activity, and run a soft script to filter all matching segments out of the data.” To Lea, he added, “That should leave you with only the portions where there is something recorded.”

“Whatever you say, gramps.” Lea scratched his hair. “Er, thanks, though. Sounds good to me.”

“I’m afraid I can only guarantee that a soft script will perform this function with a maximum of 85% accuracy,” Tron said. “Is this an acceptable margin of error for you users? If not, I can generate—”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Lea waved dismissively, though of course Tron couldn’t see this, and then jerked his thumb over at Ansem. “Just do what that guy says, alright? He knows his stuff.”

Ansem looked slightly pleased as Tron went silent again.

“This is all very exciting,” Ama said happily. Dilan rolled his eyes and muttered something that made her laugh at him.

“Operation completed,” Tron announced. “File size has been reduced by ninety-six point four percent.”

“Hey, now that’s more like it.” Lea rubbed his hands together. “All right, let’s see...Guess we gotta start somewhere...”

He navigated to the center of the recording and pushed a button. Voices blared out of the speakers, and he cocked his head, not recognizing them.

“Hey, you guys know who this is?” he asked the rest of the room.

“It sounds like Aerith and Leon,” said Ienzo, “from the committee. They use this facility from time to time.”

“Okay, so, not what we’re lookin’ for.” Lea hit pause. “Mmm, let’s see here...Maybe a little closer to home...”

He skipped ahead to a further chunk of the recording, letting it run again. Now there was a different voice talking along with Aerith and Leon.

 _“—oughta do it,”_ Cid was saying, _“but we’ll have to let ‘er cycle down before we know for sure. That okay, Leon?”_

_“Will it affect the Claymore system?”_

_“Well, it shouldn’t, but I ain’t makin’ any promises after what the MCP put us through last time. Tron, how’s the backup com—Hey now, get offa there! Stitch! Ya crazy varmint—”_

Cackling laughter was punctuated by Cid’s prolonged, creative cursing; it sounded as if something were running around the computer room with Cid chasing it. Lea skipped forward again.

Many times more, Lea fast-forwarded to the next segment of the recording, but each time it was only members of the Restoration Committee talking about their plans, or bantering with each other as they worked to troubleshoot and upgrade the various systems that protected and powered the town. Increasingly disappointed, Lea finally grimaced and held his thumb down for much longer than usual, skipping all the way to what looked from the visuals to be near the end of the data. When the recording began playing, he started. His own slightly distorted voice came out of the speakers, filling the room.

_“—a hand with that? You guys still don’t look so hot. Maybe take it easy for a little while, huh?”_

_“I hardly need to be told what to do, thank you,”_ came an annoyed voice: Ienzo. The present-day Ienzo looked surprised to hear himself. _“How are the two of them faring?”_

 _“They’re breathing,”_ past-Aeleus reported. _“But they don’t seem stable yet. We should get them downstairs.”_

Lea hit pause and looked over his shoulder at the crowd in the doorway, flashing a thumbs-up that nobody returned.

“Bingo! The big day. Just what I was hopin’ for.” He hit a fist into his palm. “Okay, uh—Tron? Can you find the beginning of this part and start it from there? Just—rewind it a little or whatever. I can’t tell where it starts from the picture.”

“Affirmative. Parsing…”

“And what is the point of listening to this?” Even asked. “We were all there that morning _,_ weren’t we? This is nothing new.”

“I’d like to hear it,” Dilan admitted, “for curiosity’s sake. I wasn’t awake for most of the day.”

“Neither was I, but that doesn’t mean it’s particularly—”

“What are you both talking about?” Ama interrupted. Even ignored her, and Dilan only growled and shook his head.

Lea, at least, seemed pleased with himself, and rested his fists on his hips as he watched the progress bar that Tron had put up quickly fill. He even gave the nearby Ansem a friendly pat on the back when Ansem inadvertently wandered within reach.

“Thanks for lending a hand, gramps. Always heard back in the day that you were some kinda tech wiz.”

“Back in what day?” Ansem asked, utterly confused, but Lea didn’t reply—the task bar had filled. He stepped forward and hit the play button without hesitation, gazing up at the monitor.

Coarse silence, at first. Then a voice that made Lea’s eyes widen enough to reflect the light of the computer screen.

_“Ow, my achin’ head…”_

There was the sound of someone dragging themselves to their feet, then stumbling, perhaps against a section of the terminals. Despite the poor quality of the audio, the voice itself was unmistakeable.

“Braig?” said Ienzo, astonished. “He was here?”

“Who is Braig?” Ama asked.

Now everyone was listening intently. Some slight static filtered through the speakers, muffling whatever Braig was saying in a lower voice, but then his voice grew louder again, as if he’d stopped talking under his breath, or perhaps stepped nearer to one of the security system’s hidden microphones.

_“Well, well. I’ll be damned. Plan D actually worked, huh? Talk about a long shot. Except, then that’s gotta mean…”_

He laughed.

_“Yup, right on the money. Hey there, stranger! How long have you been waitin’ around?”_

_“Long enough.”_

The second voice was unfamiliar: young, authoritative, cold. Only Lea reacted to it. He leaned forward and gripped either side of the computer terminal, his expression tightening.

“Who is that?” Aeleus tried, but Lea ignored them all, staring fixedly at the screen.

 _“Well,”_ came Braig’s voice, _“can’t blame me for bein’ late. Wasn’t exactly my call.”_ A pause, as if he were surveying the room. _“That was more difficult than I thought, but at least things are on track. Lord Xemnas is nowhere to be seen, so that means the party’s already begun, huh?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Man, does that Xehanort scare me like nobody’s business. The way he can see into minds. And it doesn’t help that no one knows what it is the old man wants. I wonder if even you know what’s going on inside your own head?”_

_“I will be led,”_ said the second voice coolly, _“wherever it is I am destined to go.”_

_“Sounds to me like you don’t have a clue of your own.”_

The stranger kept talking: about Keyblades and legacies and wars long past. Braig didn’t interrupt his explanation, and as the unfamiliar voice filled the lab, a tense-looking Lea glanced over at the others gathered near the doorway and raised a hand, wordlessly drawing a large X in the air. Everyone understood.

 _“Whatever,”_ said Braig. “ _I got my hands full with my own plans. So...Which poor soul will it be?”_

The recorded sound of footsteps was slow, deliberate. It was easy to imagine him pacing the room with all of them lying in it, stepping between bodies.

_“Let’s see here…Decisions, decisions...”_

The footsteps stopped periodically, replaced with rustling sounds.

_“What, nobody’s got any pocket change? Bummer. I at least wanted some beer money.”_

_“You’re wasting time,”_ said Xehanort. _“We need to leave this place and begin our work.”_

 _“Ah, you’re no fun.”_ More footsteps, and then a scuffing noise, as if Braig had lightly kicked something. _“Out cold...Okay then, Scarface, looks like you’re today’s winner. Lucky number seven, heh.”_

_“Is that the one I was told about?”_

_“Yeah, this is him.”_

There was the distinct, disconcerting sound of a body being dragged across the floor.

_“Yeesh, this guy’s heavier than he looks…”_

_“Do you need a hand?”_ asked Xehanort dryly.

 _“Nope, I got ‘im. Upsy-daisy…”_ The dragging sound ended with Braig grunting, presumably throwing the body over his back. _“Okay then, let’s get this show on the road.”_

_“What about the rest of them? These people...Should they be disposed of?”_

_“Eh, we could kill ‘em, but why bother? They didn’t make the cut as vessels, so they’re not gonna be any more useful as corpses.”_

_“None of them will cause trouble for us?”_

The poor audio quality made Braig’s laugh harsh and crackly.

 _“Trouble? Hah! As if. Listen, kid—all these guys ate outta your hand right from day one. They don’t have the guts to cause us any problems.”_ Another laugh. _“C’mon, let’s boogie. Our buddy here is killin’ my back.”_

_“Don’t call me a kid.”_

_“What, haven’t you gotten a good look at the old coot? ‘Kid’ is a compliment. Enjoy being young while it lasts, heh heh…”_

Xehanort replied, but the two had started walking, and the sound of their footfalls echoing in the small space drowned out whatever the retort had been. Everyone strained to listen, but that was all that could be heard clearly; soon the sounds faded into nothing. The waveform display went flat and stayed.

The silence stretched for a good ten seconds before Lea hit the stop button.

“Who was that?” Ama asked, bewildered. “What on earth was all of that about?”

No one bothered to answer.


	12. Chapter 12

They listened to the audio twice more, then debriefed in the kitchen (except for Ansem, who disappeared, presumably having had enough human interaction to last him a while). A confused but supportive Ama made everyone tea.

“Definitely young Xehanort,” Lea was saying, swirling his mug of tea in one hand and gesturing with the other. “Haven’t seen him since the big showdown, but I’m positive that was him. He’s not a guy you forget in a hurry.”

“You suspected something like this, didn’t you?” Ienzo guessed. “You must have had some inkling that you would find what you did.”

“Mm...well, okay, yeah.” Lea rubbed his chin. “I had a hunch that Braig and Isa both recompleted at the same time we did. Braig said something about it when me and Riku bumped into him, but for all I knew, he could’ve just been trying to throw us off. Only way to find out for sure was to come back here and check for proof.” He swigged some tea. “Well, there you go. Got all the proof I need. And now that I know Isa’s out there, that gives me a leg up on looking for him. I mean, at least I know he’s alive.”

“He may not be any longer.”

“Maybe. But I don’t see why they’d kill him, especially if they were too lazy to kill the rest of us.” He let that sink in, then added, “Besides, that wouldn’t make any sense. They need him in one piece for the whole ‘clash of light and darkness’ thing, don’t they?”

“How should we know?” asked Even. “You’re the only one who’s become involved with it, if you’ll recall. We here don’t know more than whatever you choose to tell us.”

The irony of this reversal of fortunes was not lost on Lea, who made a thoughtful noise and leaned back in his chair.

“So it’s true, then,” Dilan mused. “Braig has been privy to this whole conspiracy from the start.”

“Hello? I told you guys that already.”

“You’ll pardon us,” said Ienzo, “for taking your word with a grain of salt.”

“Well, still. Can’t exactly be a huge shock, can it?”

It wasn’t a shock, no—but it had been at first. Braig’s absence when they’d all initially awoken had been cause for concern, but that concern had changed to dismay when every Keyblade wielder who bothered to stop by the castle bestowed them with more and more fragments of the truth, including Lea’s retelling of the events in the Realm of Sleep, and Aqua’s account of the battle she’d fought in the Keyblade Graveyard before her exile all those years ago.

It turned out that Braig knew more about everything than any of them, and had for a very long time. He’d plotted directly with Master Xehanort even before ‘their’ Xehanort had come into their lives, and consequently he’d known full well the history of the amnesiac young man they’d found unconscious one morning in the gardens. In hindsight, it gave new meaning to many of Braig’s actions during the long, dark year that had followed. This was why he’d so readily attached himself to the interesting new arrival, why he’d immediately advocated for the master to take him in as an apprentice, and why he’d always, always supported Xehanort when he began proposing experiments of his own, outside of Lord Ansem’s supervision.

Then later, after everything had fallen apart, Xigbar had been strangely cavalier about the business of the Organization, and about the supposedly unexpected turn their fates had taken. After the first numbness of their transformations had ebbed, he’d been the quickest to recover himself, to laugh and jest and feign (or so it seemed) the semblance of his old nature. Looking back now, they all had memories they could point to as evidence of the deeper truth—odd remarks Xigbar had made, or whole conversations where he’d reacted differently to current events than the rest of them. But given his jokester’s attitude, there had been no reason to truly believe that knew that much more than they did.

Yet he had. He’d known more than all of them combined.

The worst part, really, was that once they’d all had time to chew on it, none of these revelations could be said to be wildly out of character. For as long as anyone had known him, Braig had been a rapscallion of sorts, often selfish and sometimes unkind, his behavior occasionally crossing the line into playful cruelty despite his smiles and laughter. And he’d always been one to keep secrets if there was something to be gained from doing so. He’d been an ass, certainly...but he’d been a comrade, too, and as much a part of the fabric of life at the castle as any of them. Yet it turned out that even before they’d spiraled down into darkness together, Braig had already been soberingly far adrift, and none of them had known it.

“What really gets me,” said Lea, “is all that Keyblade War stuff that the kid was talking about. Call me crazy, but it sounds like Xehanort hasn’t even told Xehanort what Xehanort’s whole plan is. Go figure.”

“A fat lot of good that does us,” Dilan said. “Whatever he ends up choosing to do, we’re all of us caught in the middle.”

“Caught in the middle? What, you guys?” Lea pointed with his mug of tea, almost spilling it. “Get real. I’m the only one who’s putting any elbow grease into this whole thing. You all get to just sit around here and do...whatever you’re doing these days.”

“Protecting the town, mostly,” said Aeleus.

“Got slammed with community service hours, huh?”

A large silver tray came clunking down onto the table in front of everyone, interrupting the discussion.

“Now, listen here,” said Ama. “I know all of this is very complicated and important, but I’d still like to hear more than two words about it, if you wouldn’t mind. What was all the fuss about in the computer room?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.” Despite being full, Lea couldn’t help but reach for one of the bars of sea-salt ice cream she’d piled on the tray. “But...look, it’s too much too explain in one go, all right? ‘Complicated’ doesn’t even cover it.”

He demolished a third of the ice cream bar in one bite.

“I got what I came for, though. I was right—Isa’s off with Xehanort. He  _ did  _ show up here, same time as we did, and he didn’t just get up and walk off on his own, either. That’s news to me.”

“Are you thinking that he might be held captive?” Ienzo asked. “Even though he’s harboring a piece of Xehanort’s heart? That seems extremely unlikely.”

“I don’t know. Saïx never told me anything about getting a heart transplant, but looking back...I saw him change. I should have realized something was up.” Lea stared at his ice cream bar, twirling it slowly. “All I know is, I’ve gotta find him and bring him back. I’ll sort the details out on the way. After all...” He took another bite of the ice cream, speaking around it. “I always bring my friends back. It’s what I do.”

He said this with conviction, as if it were intended to be a statement of fact, but no one else looked impressed.

“I wasn’t aware you had much of a track record in that regard,” said Dilan, “for all your boasting. After all, you didn’t succeed in retrieving Roxas when you broke ranks to find him. What makes you think you’ll fare any better on a wild goose chase like this?”

“Hey, knock it off, all right?”

Lea jabbed his ice cream in Dilan’s direction, sending droplets sprinkling onto the tea tray.

“You don’t need to bring Roxas into this. Besides, what else am I supposed to do? Just leave Isa with Xehanort?”

“He very well might want to be there.”

“Well, tough luck. He doesn’t get a vote.” Lea grimaced. “And I don’t have to keep swinging by here to keep you guys updated, y’know. I only do it because I’m tryin’ to be a nice guy.”

At the other end of the table, Even gave a strangled laugh.

“Rather bold of you,” Ienzo told Lea. “If you’re going to lie, you could at least put a modicum of effort into it.”

Lea chomped into the last of his ice cream, letting the stick hang out of the corner of his mouth and looking increasingly annoyed.

“Hey, I know I’m not exactly some knight in shining armor. But you know what? At least I’m getting off my butt and trying to make things right.” He pulled the stick out of his mouth, pointing it accusingly around the table. “If you guys wanna complain about being stuck on the sidelines nowadays, go ahead. But the fact is, you’re all completely outta the picture. Am I wrong?”

“That remains to be seen,” said Ienzo coolly.

Lea returned his displeased expression in equal measure, unintimidated.

“Oh yeah? So are you guys planning on helping everybody out against Xehanort? ‘Cuz hey, that’d be a nice change of pace…”

“You hold your tongue!” Even hissed, but Lea only snorted, idly gesturing with his ice cream stick.

“I’m not trying to pick a fight,” he said. “I’m just saying, you guys can’t really complain. You got off scott-free.”

“I would hardly call the past twelve years  _ scott-free,”  _ Dilan said. “We’ve been in no better position than you this entire time.”

“Really?” Lea bit onto the ice cream stick, letting it hang out of the corner of his mouth; it muffled his words. “Think back to when this all started. You  _ really  _ don’t think that maybe, just maybe, me and Isa might’ve had it just a  _ little  _ bit worse?”

Tense silence. Lea grimaced and chewed on his ice cream stick, not even bothering to glare at all of them, lost in his own musings. Even was the first to speak up.

“You only saw one side of things,” he said stiffly, “in the position you were in. You don’t know what it was like.”

“Maybe not. But at least I actually noticed that Xehanort only ever cared about himself.” Lea took the stick out of his mouth so that he could gesture with it. “Seriously, it didn’t take a genius to see that much. All of you—all of us _ — _ were just a bunch of chess pieces to him the whole time. And we’re lucky he ended up throwing us away. But Isa? He didn’t get that lucky. That’s why I’ve got to figure out what’s happened to him now. And the least you guys can do is lend me a hand once in awhile. I’m only stuck looking for him because all of you...how did Braig put it again? ‘Ate outta his hand right from day one’?”

_ “Enough,”  _ Dilan said sharply. “Even is right. You’ll keep a civil tongue in your head while you’re under this roof.”

“All right, all right.” Lea raised his palms. “Sheesh. Told you, I’m not here to pick a fight. Just trying to make a point, that’s all.”

“We could do without your attempts at it,” said Ienzo coldly, “thank you very much.”

Lea snorted and shook his head, pushing his chair back from the table with sudden determination, as though adjourning a meeting. After a pause, he grabbed a few bars of ice cream from the tray and stuffed them into various pockets, stocking up on emergency rations.

“Lea?” Ama said worriedly. “You’re not leaving us already, are you?”

“Just goin’ upstairs. I’ll leave tomorrow, after I get some decent shut-eye.” He nodded to her. “Thanks for the grub.”

With a sarcastic wave goodbye to the apprentices, Lea stomped out of the kitchen. On his way out, an ice cream bar fell out of his jacket pocket and broke in half in its wrapping on the floor. Ama bent and picked it up.

“Well, now I’m good and lost,” she said, turning to the others. “What was he getting so worked up about?”

No one answered her; everyone looked rather sour. Ama sat in a vacant seat.

“Oh, come on. You can’t just leave me hanging after all that.” She poked the nearest person, Even, with the wrapped bar of ice cream. “What’s going on? Was that recording on the computer something important?”

“It’s nothing you should concern yourself with,” Even grumbled, brushing at the sleeve of his lab coat where she’d poked him, as if the spot were contaminated. “And nothing we’re terribly concerned with either, to be perfectly frank. Whether he finds his former friend is no business of ours.”

“We know Braig is back now,” said Dilan. “That’s of interest.”

“Is it?” Even argued. “I’m not so sure. After all, we’re hardly going to go chase him down, are we? There’s no sense in it, and in any case, this whole damnable situation has turned out to be his fault. If anything we ought to find him and wring his fool neck.”

“Whose fault is it for what?” Ama asked. “Really, I like a good mystery as much as the next person, but this is getting silly...”

The others exchanged wary looks, wordlessly agreeing that this conversation was best held at some other time. All of Ama’s puzzled questioning went nowhere.

* * *

The window of Lea’s guest bedroom faced the sunset. On Ama’s grand tour of the tower he’d picked this room seemingly at random, but now he thought that perhaps it had been a subconscious choice to claim a window that pointed due west. In his initial frustrated pacing he had overturned a corner of the rug, but now he stood still, holding on to the windowsill with one hand and gazing out at what remained of Radiant Garden.

The sunset view wasn’t like Twilight Town, at least not much. Instead of trees and houses there was only rubble, a few distant buildings, and a flat empty wasteland beyond. But the red and gold hues that everything had been painted were the same as in Twilight Town, and that was some comfort, as he hadn’t seen such a sight in weeks. Through some magic beyond Lea’s understanding, Yen Sid’s tower travelled in such a way that ensured it was always nighttime, so that Yen Sid could study the stars uninterrupted. Impressive, sure, but it also got a little dreary after a while.

He pulled an empty ice cream stick out of his pocket that he’d been unconsciously running a thumb over, turning it over in his hand as if it were some kind of talisman. As always, the word WINNER printed on the side seemed to mock him. He stared at it for awhile, then sighed and put it back in his pocket, oddly melancholy.

After a long time lost in his own thoughts, the sound of approaching footsteps reached him. At first he supposed it must be Ama, come to shove more food down his throat and pester him with questions about Roxas, but he realized soon enough that the footfalls were way too heavy to be her, and turned to face the door when it was knocked on. The intruder didn’t wait for him to answer the knock; instead the door simply swung open after a moment. Lea’s eyebrows raised.

“Uh...Hey there. Something going on?”

“I wanted a word with you.”

Aeleus’s tone wasn’t threatening, and yet Lea tensed a little anyway, out of common sense. He forced himself not to show it, nonchalantly folding his arms and leaning his back against the thick panes of the window.

“Oh yeah? What about?”

Aeleus stepped into the room, but didn’t cross it, instead remaining near the open door and leaving plenty of space between them, perhaps to try and not seem as inherently threatening as his stature usually made him. Lea cocked his head, unconvinced.

“This isn’t about what I said earlier, is it? Didn’t realize I pissed the kid off bad enough to make him send you up. Friendly warning?”

“No one sent me.”

“Okay, then.” Lea didn’t sound as if he believed him. “Well...If you’re gonna ask about Braig, I promise I don’t know any more than what I’ve already told you. Only ran into him the one time, and it wasn’t for long.” He waved an arm, vaguely indicating the rest of the castle, or rather the people in it. “He was you guys’ buddy, right? So you know him way better than I do. I don’t have a clue what he’s up to if you don’t.”

He turned to face outside once more, arms still folded, leaning one shoulder against the window frame and pressing his temple to the warm glass. Still, he kept an eye on Aeleus’s reflection off to the side.

“So, what is it you wanted to tell me?” he asked, addressing the sky stretching away before him rather than the person standing behind.

“You’re here because we allow you to be,” came Aeleus’s grave voice. “I’d remind you to tread lightly.”

“Ahhh, gotcha. So you did have a friendly warning.” Lea smirked. “I hear you, loud and clear. But hey—you gotta give me some credit, right? Comin’ all the way out here to give you guys the scoop.”

“You do it for your own reasons.”

“Maybe. But it works out for everybody, doesn’t it?”

“For whatever it is you’re planning.”

“Planning?” Lea had to laugh. “Sorry to disappoint, big guy, but I’m not planning anything exciting. I know you guys are still upset about C.O., but that was a long time ago for me.”

He rubbed the side of his neck.

“Actually...I’m tryin’ out a new style these days. The masters call it ‘teamwork.’ Think I’m starting to get the hang of it, but it’s a real doozy. Secret plans, though? I got nothin’. I want my friends back, that’s all.”

“Do you expect us to believe you?”

“I don’t care if you guys believe me or not. It’s the truth.”

Lea pressed a palm to the glass, gazing thoughtfully out over the crumbling ruins of Radiant Garden.

“We’re all people again, right?” he said aloud. “But it turns out, that doesn’t fix anything else. I can’t exactly skip home to mom and dad, can I? Can’t go ask my brother if I can crash on his couch. Can’t head back to school and pick up where I left off.”

He let his hand fall. Aeleus said nothing, and Lea didn’t seem to expect him to. He was talking as if to himself, expressing thoughts he’d long mused on but never voiced to anyone back at the tower.

“The truth is, my friends are the only thing that I’ve got left. Isa...and Roxas, too. Getting them back’s my only hustle, because I’ve got nothing else to work for. All the rest of it is gone.”

He watched the world beyond the window begin to turn from gold to pink as the sun continued to set. Already the bellies of all the clouds had turned dark, as if they’d all been transfigured into storms, but it was only a trick of the dying light.

“You get where I’m coming from, right?” Lea finally looked over his shoulder at Aeleus, still standing by the door. “I figure you would, of all people. You’re that kind of guy.”

Aeleus frowned.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well...You and the kid are still a thing, aren’t you?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Hey, it’s none of my business...and I’ve never exactly cared, anyway. No offense. But you gotta admit…”

Lea regarded Aeleus with sudden keenness, trying to read his stoic expression in the glare of the waning sun. 

“Back in the Organization, if things shook out differently…It could have been any of us in Saïx’s shoes, right? All of us were supposed to wind up part of Xehanort sooner or later, if we made the cut. So if things had gone another way...If instead of Saïx, his first pick was somebody else who stuck real close to him...”

He paused, as if deciding whether to actually say the name, but refrained.

“If that had happened,” Lea said, “then you’d want to find him now and bail him out, wouldn’t you? Even if you didn’t have a clue where to start looking. Even if he didn’t even want to come back. Even if he didn’t care about you anymore, and you only had a snowball’s chance in hell of getting him out of it okay…” He hesitated. “You’d still give it a shot, wouldn’t you?”

Aeleus’s only answer was a slow, curt nod. Lea forced a flippant smile.

“Hey, see? You get where I’m coming from. Knew you would.”

He turned away, but glanced over when Aeleus crossed the room, watching him warily. Aeleus stopped in front of the window, but they were each on opposite ends of it, with the width of the room between them. Lea still gave the door behind them a look, as if calculating how long it would take him to bolt to it if necessary.

If his question had angered or offended Aeleus, there was at least no outward sign of it, and Lea sized him up, waiting for him to do something. He didn’t. Aeleus just stood there, gazing out the window the same way Lea had been doing, and Lea scratched at his hair before finally accepting the intrusion, returning to his own sunset-watching. However, he couldn’t tolerate the silence for long.

“Still gotta deliver that friendly warning?” Lea prompted. “Or was it supposed to be more of a ‘punch in the head’ sort of thing?”

“I’m not going to hurt you. Not unless you earn it. But you should be more civil when you’re here.”

“Will do.” Lea nodded. “I think I’ve been pretty good, honestly. And I’ll admit you guys have kicked the hospitality up a notch since I was a kid. Got a window and a bed this time around—and hot food, too. Real VIP package.”

He grinned, and the grin was broad and a little bitter—an aged parody of the friendly, playful young boy who’d once broken into the castle one time too many, and paid for it with his heart.

For a while, there was silence. Lea seemed to expect Aeleus to leave, but he didn’t, and Aeleus himself seemed unsure of what he wanted to do. He remained at the window, not looking at Lea but instead down at the town, watching the small figures of residents moving to and fro between buildings whose windows had started to glitter warmly in the twilight here and there.

“Y’know, I tried asking you for a favor once,” Lea said at last. “Way back when, before the Organization. You remember that?”

Aeleus eyed him, frowning, as if trying to work out whether this were a joke. Lea smiled balefully.

“Figured not. It was forever ago...down in the basement.”

Aeleus said nothing. Lea kept talking, not looking at him—looking only at the clouds and the horizon, and the first of the trembling stars. More lights had started to come on in the settlement, peppering the ground, and while the high castle tower still caught plenty of the sunset, the little town below was already beginning to be enmeshed in shadows.

“Back then...You were different from the others. I could tell. Sometimes you seemed like you kinda gave a shit about us sad sacks chained up down there.”

His tone was not angry, simply matter-of-fact.

“I asked you once, when you were down there alone, if maybe you’d let Isa go. Never mind about me...I’d have been okay with staying if you guys would just let him off the hook. Because it was my idea to sneak in again, y’know? Stuff like that always was. Every time we did something crazy, it was always me dragging him along for the ride. So while we were down there, for however long it was, I asked everybody if they’d let him go at least once. But you—you were the only one who would look at me when I asked. Felt like I actually had a face, talking to you.”

Aeleus closed his eyes.

“I don’t remember that,” he said quietly. “But I believe you.”

“Eh, I figured you wouldn’t remember. It was a long time ago.”

Lea shrugged. Aeleus watched him, perhaps waiting for him to say more or grow upset, but he only laughed quietly to himself before lazily leaning harder against the window, studying the activity in town.

“That should never have happened,” said Aeleus flatly. “Not to you, nor to anyone.”

This took a moment to register with Lea. When it did, he glanced up, surprised.

“Hang on. You’re not trying to apologize, are you?”

“What happened then is beyond apology.”

“Hm. Can’t argue there.” Lea straightened up, and the change in angle put sunlight into his red hair, making it blaze. “But, if we’re talking apologies…Probably wouldn’t hurt for me to pass out a couple of my own, huh? Not that I haven’t tried, but I don’t think anybody believes me.”

He gave a short, unamused laugh.

“Well. Maybe the princess does...but only because I’ve gotten to say it to her about a hundred times.”

“An apology from you would be...difficult to believe. It isn’t like you.”

“Not as a Nobody, it wasn’t. But things are a little more tricky now.” He scratched his temple. “How does that old saying go again? ‘An eye for an eye makes everybody an asshole’?”

They regarded each other. Aeleus frowned.

“You’ve changed,” he said. “You aren’t like Axel was.”

“You think so? Hm.” Lea rapped his knuckles against his sternum, over his heart. “Guess that means there’s more left of Lea in here than I thought. Which is kinda funny...‘cuz I’ve been having a hard time figuring out who that guy’s supposed to be.” He looked up. “What about you, big guy? You feeling any different these days? Or is it mostly like being Lexaeus still?”

“I’d rather not discuss it.”

“Fair enough.”

Lea gave Aeleus a quizzical look, then shrugged and returned his attention to the tail end of the sunset, folding his arms. Half a minute passed in silence before he spoke again.

“I’m just saying,” he said abruptly, as if they’d been mid-discussion, “maybe the lady downstairs had a point at dinner. Keeping score isn’t gonna help anybody get what they want outta this mess, and we’ve all got a few icky jobs on our rap sheets. So, maybe all of us should just...y’know, call it even for now. Call it even, and try not to earn any more points. Clean slate.”

“It’s strange to hear that from you.”

“Yeah, well.” Lea shrugged, his arms still folded. “Empathy’s a hell of a drug, I guess.”

Aeleus said nothing.

Below, the town had fallen into complete shadow, thanks in no small part to the presence of the huge castle. All of the little lights coming from windows and open doors looked like a field of fireflies, but there were far fewer of them than there should have been—a few dozen and no more. Lea sighed through his nose, watching the little lights wink off and on, off and on.

“There’s something else I wanted to ask you about,” came Aeleus’s voice. “If you’ll answer honestly.”

Lea looked over at him.

“That depends on what you wanna ask, I guess. What’s up?”

“You were the last person to see Zexion.”

It wasn’t exactly a question, but Lea still tensed, then nodded slowly.

“Well...Yeah. And—look, I know I’ve said this already, but that whole C.O. bit wasn’t personal. You got me? I was just following a plan. I had nothing against the kid—or the old guy, for that matter.”

“If I were going to punish you,” said Aeleus evenly, “I would have done it a long time ago.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? Yikes.” Lea shook his head. “But...I mean, yeah, I guess I was the last person to see him. Me and the Riku Replica. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Ienzo still doesn’t have his illusion magic.”

Whatever Lea had been expecting Aeleus to say, it wasn’t this. He looked genuinely surprised, and unfolded his arms, brow furrowed, as if trying to decide whether Aeleus were pulling his leg for some reason.

“Seriously? That never wore off? Thought that was just because we were fresh in one piece.”

“Nothing has changed since the first day. He’s the only one it happened to. I assume it has something to do with how Zexion was destroyed.”

“You mean, by the Replica?” Lea rubbed his chin, frowning. “Well, I mean, it did kinda...suck all the life out of him…” He glanced up nervously, as if afraid Aeleus might pick him up with one hand and hurl him through the window. “So...I guess it absorbed his powers pretty well, then. But Riku destroyed the Replica—I saw him do it. So you’re saying all the power that the Replica stole from Zexion just...stayed gone?”

“It seems so.”

“Jeez.” To Lea’s credit, he looked genuinely perturbed. “Well...I know it doesn’t exactly count for much, but I didn’t mean for that to happen. I mean, I didn’t know we’d all get put together again if we bit the dust, but still…” He considered. “Though, if that’s really how it is, I’m surprised you guys haven’t poisoned me or something. Kid’s a lot nicer nowadays, but he can’t be happy about this, can he?”

“He’s pretending it’s only temporary. It obviously isn’t. I want to find a way to help him.”

“Why don’t you talk to the old guy?” Lea asked. “He made the Replica, right? So he’s the one who’d know if it was supposed to work like that or not. What’s his take?”

“Even says he can’t know anything one way or the other without observing it for himself. That was the only Replica he got to test.”

Actually, Even had claimed he’d finished two of them, and that the one he’d used on Riku had been the first and less refined of the two prototypes. The other one was supposedly meant for some special project of Xemnas’s devising, but had apparently never been put to use, since Dilan and Lea both agreed they’d never seen it in the months after Castle Oblivion. Presumably the second Replica had never been activated and was stored somewhere in the Castle That Never Was, lifeless and abandoned, if it hadn’t been outright destroyed.

Lea scratched at his temple.

“Makes sense, I guess. But where do I come in? I don’t know any more than you guys do.”

“But you might at some point,” said Aeleus. “You’re learning things that we aren’t. You’re meeting people that we aren’t. Perhaps you’ll discover something that we can’t.”

Lea considered this, leaning against the window frame again.

“That’s kind of a long shot, isn’t it? But...I mean, yeah, I guess I can keep an ear to the ground. Old Yen Sid knows a whole lot about magic, maybe he’ll have some kind of clue. I dunno. I can ask.”

Aeleus nodded. Lea hesitated, then nodded back, and held a hand out in front of him, flexing his wrist. A Keyblade appeared in his grasp, not triumphantly in a burst of fire but hesitantly, as if unsure of itself. Its flamelike shaft glowed from within, casting a faint orange light over Lea’s face from below, as if he were sitting in front of a campfire, and the glare from it made the windows suddenly more difficult to see out of. Lea studied the weapon casually, as if it were nothing more than a curious-looking toy.

“Funny how things worked out, isn’t it?” Every tilt of the Keyblade made the light it emitted play new shadows onto his face and clothes. Outside, the sun had sunk so low that the room had dimmed noticeably, which made the Keyblade’s inner fire all the more apparent. “Never woulda guessed about any of this back in the Organization. But, here we are.”

The Keyblade flickered, then vanished in a swirl of hot sparks. Lea sighed and looked over at Aeleus again, but without the Keyblade’s glow, Aeleus was now little more than a tall, looming silhouette on the other side of the twilit room.

“You all must think I’m nuts,” Lea said, “going in for all this Keyblade stuff. Xemnas was some seriously bad news all by himself...and now we’ve got twelve more of him to deal with. Talk about having the deck stacked against you.”

“The Keyblade accepted you,” said Aeleus evenly. He sounded neither pleased nor displeased, merely stating the fact. “It must have had a reason.”

“That’s what the masters all say. Guess that means I’m some kinda hero now, huh?” Lea had to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it. “Man. What are the freakin’ odds.”

Aeleus offered no comment, and Lea ran a hand through his hair, smiling wryly in an odd, strained way. His other hand slipped into his pocket, brushing against the WINNER stick that Roxas had left for him in an envelope, an entire lifetime ago.


	13. Chapter 13

No one murdered Lea in his sleep, and he left first thing in the morning. Ama tried to drag him into town so that she could introduce him to everyone on the Restoration Committee, but he resisted, wolfing down a quick breakfast and then trudging outside carrying one last slice of toast for the road. Naturally, no one else joined Ama in seeing him off.

In the courtyard, she presented him with a basket of food to take back to the tower.

“You and Kairi keep working hard,” she told him, as he inspected the layers of homemade snacks. “And if you see Sora or Riku, tell them to come visit when they can. Of course miss Aqua is welcome to come by, too. The door’s always open for any of you.”

“Wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Lea said warily, eyeing the castle behind her. “But thanks anyway.”

He balked when she began adjusting the yellow bandanna tied around his neck. He couldn’t stop her, encumbered as he was by the basket.

“Hey, c’mon, don’t touch that—”

“It’s coming loose. Hold still.” She knotted the fabric into a nice shape and pinched wrinkles out of it, smoothing it down against his shirt. “There, much better. Now are you  _ sure  _ you won’t stay a little longer and come into town? Everyone would love to meet another one of Sora’s friends.”

“Sorry, lady, gotta get back to business. Maybe next time.” He clumsily adjusted his grip on the basket, trying to tuck it under one arm despite how large it was. “I’ll tell Kairi and everybody else you said hi.”

“All of you be careful out there, all right? Don’t let Xehanort get you.”

Lea managed to balance the basket under his arm so that he could summon his Keyblade with the other hand. There were a few embarrassing false starts before it finally decided to appear, magical flames licking up the arm of his dark jacket without burning it, and Ama’s last sight of him was him turning to give one last look back as the portal to the Lanes Between closed around him, folding in on itself until nothing remained.

After he’d disappeared, Ama stood in the courtyard for a little while, contemplating the rose-colored morning and fanning herself with her hat. Out of habit she made the usual rounds, checking the herb garden for damage and Leona’s favorite hiding spot for eggs, and just before going back inside, she popped the lid off of the large crock standing by the door and sniffed at its contents, dipping in a pinky to taste the cloudy liquid floating on top of the mush. It passed inspection, and she left it to sit longer.

“Well,” she sighed to the full kitchen, when she stepped back inside, “that’s it, then. Lea’s gone.”

“And good riddance.” Even poured himself more coffee. “With any luck, that’s the last we’ll see of that obnoxious cretin.”

“He left his pizza dough,” Dilan noted, digging through the fridge. Ienzo glanced up from today’s book.

“Go ahead and throw that out, Dilan. Unless anyone’s daring enough to eat something that Lea put together?”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” said Ama. “It looks just fine. I’ll make hand pies or something for the meeting tonight.” She poked the ball of dough that Dilan handed her, testing its springiness, then started hunting for a rolling pin in the drawers. “Does anyone know if Mr. Ansem’s had breakfast yet? I haven’t seen him this morning.”

“I’m going back upstairs,” said Aeleus. “I can take him a plate, if he’s up.”

They all lapsed into routine: Ama talking as she rolled the dough out into semicircles; Dilan arguing with her about the feasibility of today’s menu posted on the chalkboard; Aeleus preparing a tray of food for Ansem; Even muttering to himself over his last couple of pancakes; and Ienzo comfortably absorbed in his book, ignoring the rest of them.

Lea’s short visit had followed the pattern of every short visit that had been made to the castle by a Keyblade wielder over the past few weeks. That pattern being: an unexpected arrival, the reveal of some astonishing news, and then an equally sudden departure, leaving the stunned apprentices trying to digest whatever information that the visitor had presented them with. It was rather like having one’s mundane life punctuated at random by a stranger breaking into the house, delivering a punch to the face, and then bolting. Just because it had happened more than once already didn’t make getting punched any more enjoyable.

Still, the occasional face-punch was not (as they’d learned the first time) enough to instantly derail their entire lives. Whatever was happening off on other worlds didn’t make Radiant Garden’s local concerns go away, and until the day someone like Xehanort or Sora actually turned up here in the flesh, their actions weren’t doing anything to impact the apprentices’ day-to-day schedule. In some ways it was the polar opposite of life in the Organization, where they’d had no concerns except the pointless busywork of missions, and had been able to travel easily to other worlds to observe any important goings-on while the lesser Nobodies scouted far and wide to bring them additional information. None of those options were available to them anymore, and they had the ordinary business of getting by to contend with on top of it. The fact that they were now, as Lea had put it, ‘stuck on the sidelines,’ was one of the ways in which reclaiming their humanity had been an unexpected downgrade.

“Either way,” Ama was saying, “I really have to get down to the lot today and take a look at everything. Cid had wanted me to sign off on it before they started putting the walls up, and I was going to go yesterday, but of course then we had company over...”

“You’re moving out shortly, I take it?” Even asked.

“I’m afraid so.”

Even muttered something that sounded like  _ ‘not a day too soon,’  _ draining his coffee. Ama finished crimping the last of the hand pies she’d made with Lea’s pizza dough, then popped the tray in the freezer.

“I’m heading out,” she said, “but I’ll be back early this evening, if the work goes well today. Does anyone need anything from town?”

After scribbling down everyone’s orders, she left, though her departure allowed Leona to hop inside the kitchen while the door was propped open. The fat chicken squawked indignantly when Dilan picked her up and threw her back outside, scattering a few brown feathers across the stone floor.

“She can’t leave soon enough,” said Even, through the last mouthful of his pancakes. “Frankly, I can’t believe she’s stayed as long as she has. We’ll finally have peace and quiet around here again.”

Outside, Leona kept squawking, pecking at the closed door. It was almost as loud as the sounds of distant construction wafting in through the window.

* * *

“She’s sure lookin’ good, Tifa!”

Yuffie tightened her headband, grinning, and the rest of the committee voiced their agreement. Tired and sweaty from hours of manual labor, they had taken a break and clustered in front of the skeleton of the soon-to-be bar, surrounded by heaps of wooden boards, bricks, bits of masonry, and buckets of nails and other oddments. Only Cid and Merlin stood off to the side, arguing over blueprints that Cid had unrolled onto a slab of concrete and was pointing at with his ever-present toothpick. Mog hovered above them both, mediating the dispute.

“It’ll look better once it’s finished,” said Tifa, dusting off her gloved hands. “But I think it will be good for all of us to have this place. Something new that wasn’t here before...something to call our own.”

“Soooo...What  _ are  _ you gonna call it, huh?” Yuffie asked slyly.

“Nice try.” Tifa gently tapped the shorter Yuffie on the top of the head with the side of her fist, as if admonishing a pesky younger sibling. “You’re not getting any hints out of me.”

“Come on, Tifa, everyone wants to know!”

While Yuffie and Tifa bantered, a weary Leon sighed and rubbed the scar across the bridge of his nose. The committee had been managing the ongoing construction, and now that the townspeople’s unbridled enthusiasm of the first few days had naturally ebbed to a more ordinary level, the committee’s duties had come to include organizing work crews and scheduling shifts in addition to all of their other supervisory tasks—not to mention rolling up their sleeves and pitching in anywhere they could. Countless schedules and papers peeked out of the pockets of Leon’s jacket as evidence of how many questions he’d had to answer today. 

Tifa started doing stretches to ease her sore muscles, while nearby, Aerith sat on a stack of lumber with her legs stretched out in front of her, spot-cleaning mud off of her long skirt, having spent the past few hours planting trees almost single-handedly. She thanked Ama when she handed her an extra handkerchief to help speed up the process.

“So when are we thinking things will be ready?” Leon asked Scrooge McDuck, who was admiring the hollow facade of the building before them, as if in his mind’s eye he could see it already completed and full of well-paying customers. “Did you sort out those inventory problems?”

“No reason t’ worry on that end, lad. All the contracts are signed an’ sealed.” Scrooge rapped the handle of his cane against his bill, looking pleased. “This place’ll have some proper drink on tap when she’s opened, I can guarantee that. But we’ll only be bringin’ it all in t’ start, won’t we? Once she’s on her feet, maybe we’ll expand a bit an’ put in a kitchen an’ some stills. A pub without hot food’s only half a pub...an’ a town’s nae a town ‘til they have their own local brew. Eh?” He tapped Leon’s side with his cane, a twinkle in his eye. “What do ye think of that? I could sell it all over the worlds an’ give the committee a cut. Radiant Ale? Leonhart Lager?”

“Let’s just worry about making this place safe first.”

“Aye, lad, there’s yer problem.” Scrooge took off his spectacles, polishing them. “Ye’ve got t’ learn that there’s never a bad time to do business.”

Behind them, Yuffie had given up on persuading Tifa to talk, and instead watched with interest as Ama helped Aerith clean her skirt.

“Hey Ama,” Yuffie asked, “is Sora going to come back and see everything once it’s done? It would be really great if he stopped by for the grand opening!”

“Sora?” Ama wiped her hands on a rag. “Oh, I don’t know. I haven’t heard from him lately at all. He certainly keeps busy.”

“Aw, too bad. But hey,” Yuffie brightened, “that’s the Keyblade master for you. Gotta get out there and save those worlds.”

She held out both hands, pantomiming wielding a sword. 

“I wish I had a Keyblade, too. I’d show those pesky Heartless who’s boss. Like  _ that! _ And this! Hi- _ yah!” _

“Hey, watch where you’re swinging that thing,” said Leon, moving his arm to avoid being hit by an especially enthusiastic maneuver. “If you’re still so full of energy, why don’t you go see if they need a hand with the roof?”

“You’re such a spoilsport, Leon.”

But Yuffie was grinning as she took a running start and sprang onto one of the exposed metal crossbeams of the unfinished building, shimmying and vaulting her way up onto the patchy roof in impressive ninja fashion. She waved down at them from the edge of the rooftop, then disappeared. None of the committee paid much attention to her departure except Ama, who waved back, and Scrooge McDuck, who chuckled.

“Ah, youth!” Scrooge said, tapping his cane. “Takes me back t’ when I was a fledgling.”

Aerith finally gave up on the worst of the stains, and Tifa sat down next to her on the lumber pile, still doing stretches. Tifa winced as she bent forward and grabbed the heel of her boot, gently working the muscle.

“So...Have you heard from him yet?” Aerith asked her.

“No. The Moogles said they definitely got my letter to him, but...I guess he doesn’t want to write back.”

“Do you think he’ll come to the party?”

They looked at each other knowingly. Tifa sighed and kept stretching.

“I think he will,” Aerith decided.

“You do? Why?”

“Because he wants to be here. He just doesn’t let himself admit it. But your letter will give him an excuse.”

“I wish he would learn that he doesn’t need an excuse,” Tifa said, sitting up. “Seriously, some days I’m this close to getting up and chasing after him again. But...I made a promise.”

They looked at each other again, and Aerith smiled, reaching back to adjust the ribbon wound into her long braid.

“What are we going to do with that hopeless guy?” she wondered aloud. Tifa had to laugh.

“Trust me—I’ve been asking myself that for years.”

The work soon resumed. Leon headed off to supervise a shift change further down the street, and Merlin stayed behind at the bar, assisting with the trickier parts of shingling the roof and putting up siding around the partly exposed framework. A wave of his wand made nails, shingles, bricks, and all the other materials spring to life, shuffling and hovering into position of their own accord, though it still took several volunteers to make sure everything landed in its proper place and was tightly secured before the spell wore off. Occasionally a piece of enchanted building material went awry entirely, and Merlin had correct each of these mistakes by hand. He wand-tapped a brick that had glued itself into the wrong place, which started squirming, and he squished in his grip like a wet sponge as he wrested it out of the beginnings of the bar’s facade.

“Now, see here,” he chided, “that’s quite enough of that. We’ve got lots to do, you know! Back to work with you.”

The brick transformed into a lifeless rectangle once more, and he absently handed it to Mog, who squeaked and struggled to stay airborne under its weight. Merlin’s owl helpfully swooped in and grabbed the other end of it, and the two of them set the brick back onto a pile of others on the ground.

Down the street, Ama had gone with Cid to inspect her future abode. With the walls and roof tacked on, the place looked even tinier than it had at the start of construction—more of a bungalow than anything—but it didn’t seem to bother her. She licked her thumb and rubbed out a stain on the unvarnished wall, testing the light switches and sometimes putting up tape to mark where she wanted to position what few pieces of furniture would fit.

“I’m sure it ain’t as nice as what you’re used to,” Cid told her, scratching his stubble, “but we’re glad to have ya around anyway. Water n’ all that oughta be on soon, once the rest of the street’s set up. Gotta make sure the pumps can handle the new load.”

“I can’t thank you enough. Really, it’s lovely.”

“Least we could do. This town wouldn’t even be here anymore if it wasn’t for Sora. He’s saved our bacon more than once.” Cid adjusted his toothpick. “How’s it goin’ up there at the castle, anyways? Y’all are braver than most folks, livin’ in a spooky wreck like that. That ol’ place was Maleficent’s for so long, I can’t even look at it without thinkin’ about her and all those creepy Heartless.”

“It  _ is  _ a little worn down,” Ama admitted, “but it’s getting better. I’d love to see the whole place cleaned up someday.”

“I reckon we all would.”

Cid tucked his thumbs into his large waistband and leaned against the outside wall, thoughtfully chewing on his toothpick and staring up at the castle a mile away. Ama, who had been poking around inside the unfinished cottage, stuck her upper body through the large, empty window frame to see what he was looking at, and then stepped through it to join Cid out in what would become the back garden, currently a moonscape of spare building supplies and errant piles of dirt. This wasn’t a particularly odd decision, as there was no front door hanging up yet, either.

“Used to be,” Cid said, picking up on Ama’s question before she asked it, “that the castle was the heart of the whole city back in the day.” He waved his toothpick in that direction. “All the water systems n’ electricity grid and all that ran offa the castle network. Fed into the generator system and ran like clockwork. Before he turned rotten, old Ansem the Wise really built this place up into somethin’ else. Radiant Garden was famous for bein’ so pretty—and a great place to live, too. Folks came from all over to study at our university, and the library was just about the nicest building you ever saw. And the fountains! And all the parks and trees...and flowers. Shoot, almost forgot about those. The flowers were real famous. Had tourists flock in every spring to look at all the fields outside the city.”

“It all sounds wonderful.”

“Sure was. And real quiet, too. We had it easier than a lotta folks in this world. Until the darkness came, and that old witch Maleficent set up shop up there with the Heartless.”

He pointed with his toothpick at the castle facade, a ruin of broken mechanical parts and crumbling stonework, like an enormous grandfather clock that a giant had smashed with its club. Ama tried to imagine what it must have looked like before it fell into disrepair, but it was difficult, since she’d never seen any building a fraction as enormous and grand in her whole life. She’d almost gotten used to the castle, being inside it so much, but from a distance it was easier to appreciate what a marvel it was, the way she had when she’d first arrived here. It really was like something out of a fairy tale.

“Wish those other folks up there woulda come down today,” Cid said offhandedly. “Dilan and Aeleus are always a lotta help—big strong guys. And the other two—what’re their names again? Don’t see ‘em around as much, but they’ve helped out before. We need everybody we can get, with all this goin’ on.”

“They’ll come down later, I’m sure. We’ve just been busy. We had some unexpected company over yesterday.”

“Eh?”

“One of Sora’s friends came by. Learo—Lea. I don’t think you know him.”

“Gotcha.” Cid munched his toothpick. “How’s Sora doing, anyway? Still out there fightin’ the Heartless?”

“That’s what it sounds like. I think there are Heartless everywhere these days.”

“Figures,” Cid grunted. “We thought we’d had ‘em all beat when Sora took care of Ansem, but all it did was make ‘em a little less common. Two steps forward, one step back.” He shook his head. “Maybe there’s no way to make ‘em disappear for good. Maybe we’ll always be havin’ to sleep with one eye open from now on.”

They both looked up the street towards the worksite, contemplating. A young robin flew past, landing on the eaves of the cottage and flicking its tail before fluttering away to hunt for worms in one of the nearby dirt piles. It was a slightly heartening sight. Between the desolation and the continual Heartless threat, living creatures were rare in and around Radiant Garden.

“You mentioned Ansem,” Ama said, as the robin pecked at the dirt. “What was he like before? I’ve been wondering a lot about that, ever since he—” She caught herself. “Well, I mean, I’ve been wondering about it.”

“What was he like before what? Before he went bad?”

Ama had to remind herself, again, that there were two Ansems. There was the man up at the castle, the real Ansem, who didn’t remember being Ansem at all, and then there was the other Ansem, the Heartless of Xehanort and Terra combined, who called himself Ansem, the Seeker of Darkness. Obviously Cid, like most people (including herself, for a while), thought that they were the same person.

“I meant before,” she said, “when the city was still here, and he was in charge of everything. What sort of person was he?”

Cid shrugged.

“Can’t really say, after what happened. And there’s no use scratchin’ our heads about it when we got so many other problems. Sora and his friends took care of him, didn’t they?”

His toothpick had already grown so frayed from chewing that he removed it from between his teeth, but instead of replacing it with a second toothpick, he dug around in his large waistband and pulled out a crumpled, half-empty pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

“Won’t tell on me, will ya?” he asked Ama. “Gave these up a long time ago, back in Traverse Town—for the kids, y’know, when they were growin’ up. Aerith’ll kill me if she finds out I’m back at it.”

He lit up the cigarette and took a drag, sending coils of bluish smoke out of both nostrils like a grizzled old dragon, and glanced up the street towards the bar, making sure no one was headed their way before taking another pull.

“Ansem seems like he was...an interesting person,” Ama ventured, using her hat to fan smoke away from her face. Cid chuckled, tapping ash onto a dirt pile. The visiting robin had gone.

“Guess that’s the right word, ain’t it? ‘Interesting.’ Truth is, us left here don’t know much about him. He was the ruler of Radiant Garden for a long time—think he mighta come to power when he was only about as old as Leon an’ all of them. He was the one who brought in a lotta the technology and wired the whole town up to the castle; I remember ‘em building most of that stuff when I was a kid. Really improved things around here.

“But he wasn’t really a public figure...least, not after years and years. The more the city improved, the less he turned up in town. Think he was one of those philosopher-types more than anything. Didn’t have his face plastered all over or statues of ‘im up—wasn’t that kinda ruler. I guess startin’ out, he just wanted to make this place as nice as it could get, without necessarily bein’ in the spotlight about it. He did so much good, folks wound up callin’ him Ansem the Wise.”

Cid snorted, blowing smoke.

“And what happened to him, exactly?” Ama asked, thinking of him quietly tinkering with his machines up at the castle, remembering nothing of his life and accomplishments. Cid snorted again, smokeless this time.

“Told ya, we don’t really know. My guess is that livin’ up there an’ lettin’ the city take care of itself for so long made ‘im go kinda funny in the head...lose sight of what was really important. But all we know for sure is that at some point, he started investigating the Heartless. Things went bad real fast after that.” Cid brooded. “Maybe he’d already gone rotten a long time before, and nobody knew ‘cause he kept to himself. But eventually he started doin’ experiments on people, turnin’ ‘em into Heartless. Mighta been workin’ in cahoots with that witch Maleficent, too—she sure pounced on this place quicklike one day, an’ brought a whole army of Heartless with her. Nobody knew anything was wrong ‘til then, but, y’know...somethin’ had felt off for months. People had started disappearin’ one by one—dozens of ‘em, just vanished into thin air…”

Cid trailed off, then made an annoyed noise and took a long pull from his cigarette.

“Aw, hell.” He blew a cloud of smoke. “Ain’t no good rememberin’ all that. All it does it get my blood pressure up. Nothin’ us ordinary folks coulda done about it, even if we’d marched up to the castle and burned the place down. Maleficent still woulda come down on this world like a bat outta hell, and nobody coulda fought off all those Heartless that she brought. Thousands of ‘em—it was chaos.”

He put out the stub of his cigarette onto a stray bit of spare paving-stone piled near the corner of the cottage.

“Anyways,” he concluded, “if you wanna know more about Ansem, you oughta go and ask Sora. He put a stop to him awhile back, so he oughta know somethin’ about how he went wrong. Me, I just hope we’ve seen the last of him. We got plenty else to worry about around here without him turnin’ up and causin’ more trouble.”

He nodded up the street, to where the others had all started working on the bar again, and straightened from leaning up against the wall. Ama gathered her supplies, giving the empty doorway a reassuring pat before following Cid back towards the worksite.

“So Ansem was studying the Heartless?” she asked, as they started up the street. “Before the world was destroyed?”

Sora had mentioned something about that—or maybe it had been someone else, like Mickey. But obviously, this was what the Xehanort-Ansem had done to ruin the real Ansem’s reputation.

“Yup,” said Cid. “That’s what he wrote in his reports, anyway. Only reason we know anything about it is ‘cause some of his notes survived, talkin’ about seekin’ out the darkness and all that. Scary stuff.”

Ama didn’t press the subject, and Cid changed it as they kept walking, but she still looked unusually preoccupied, and pulled some scrap paper out of her pocket at one point to scribble down a couple of notes. Even when they reached the worksite and fell back into the swing of things, she still sometimes stopped and stepped away from the work zone to stare up at the castle, tapping her chin with the eraser end of her pencil nub and gazing thoughtfully at the top of the south tower, as if seeing something there that no one else could.


	14. Chapter 14

The upcoming unveiling of Tifa’s bar was shaping up to be the most excitement that the new Radiant Garden had ever experienced. Up at the castle, however, the big news was something much closer to home: Ama was finally, finally moving out.

To general surprise, she announced it only a few days in advance, and didn’t want to do anything to honor the occasion except cook them all a slightly larger dinner than usual. She didn’t seem to think her departure was nearly as momentous as they did.

“After all, it’s not like I’m really going away, is it?” she told Even in the morning, after everyone else had already finished breakfast and dispersed. “I’m only moving down the street, so I’ll be right here if you all need anything. And of course, I’ll come over to check on how you’re doing whenever I can.”

“I don’t know what makes you think we need _checking_ _on_. A ludicrous notion.”

Even reached for the sugar bowl and, finding it empty, shook it upside-down over his oatmeal to make sure. Before he could complain, however, the empty bowl was plucked out of his hand and replaced with a full one, swapped out by Ama as she bustled across the kitchen and stationed herself at the sink. Even immediately started scooping sugar into his oatmeal without thanking her.

“It will be nice to get the garden going while it’s spring,” she mused to herself. “I have so much to do...I should have started on it last week, but time flies when you stay busy. With the bar opening up, there’s just been so much else to worry about on the committee. I can’t believe I’ve been in town almost a month already...”

“It’s certainly been an interesting few weeks.”

“Hasn’t it?” She knotted together some garlic bulbs onto a string and hanging them up over the sink, where they could dry in the sunlight, sounding as pleased as Even was annoyed. “I hope Sora drops by for a visit soon. For once I’ll have a few exciting stories to tell him, instead of the other way around. He’ll be so surprised, don’t you think?”

“Very.” Even snorted and dumped sugar into his third cup of coffee. “In fact, if you tell him that you stayed with us here, I can guarantee the boy will be absolutely flabbergasted.”

* * *

And so, with much less fanfare than her hosts would have predicted, Ama packed up and departed for her house on the newly-finished street. Their first day without her reacquainted the castle’s occupants with a concept they had entirely forgotten about during her tenure: the notion of being out of food.

“Where are all the eggs?” Ienzo asked, rooting through the fridge.

“There aren’t any,” said Dilan from the table, reading the news broadsheet. There was almost nothing on it except announcements about the upcoming celebration. “Ama took the chicken.”

“Ah. Of course.”

Ienzo kept hunting, but the fridge failed him, and he looked curiously over at Dilan when he reemerged.

“Aren’t you going to get started on breakfast?” he asked.

“I’ve already eaten.”

“I had meant for the rest of us.”

Dilan snorted, folding the broadsheet to better read the bottom half.

“And why should I bother with that? You’re capable of feeding yourself.”

“I didn’t realize you objected to it so strongly,” Ienzo said, settling for a bit of cold rice from the top shelf. “Why the sudden change of heart? You’ve certainly cooked often enough lately.”

“The change,” Dilan said, “is that the woman’s gone, and she did half the work or more. I’m not going to devote all my time to putting out three square meals for the rest of you just because she’s left. We don’t have to eat together every meal, after all. We didn’t before she came.”

“You could have at least brewed more coffee.”

Dilan grunted and flipped the broadsheet over as Ienzo got to work on this himself.

Over the next half an hour, the other three each wandered into the kitchen expecting a hot breakfast to be ready like usual, and received only disappointment. Neither Ansem nor Aeleus bothered Dilan about it, throwing something together on their own and disappearing as Ienzo had, but Even, as usual, made more of a fuss.

“Where’s the milk gone?” he demanded, digging through the fridge more aggressively than any of the others had.

“I suppose we’re out of it, if there’s none there. Someone else must have finished it off before you came down.”

“And the bacon?”

“Why are you asking me? You’ve eyes to see with.”

Even emerged from the fridge with a scowl and a block of cheese.

“Why haven’t you bought enough of anything?”

“I’m not a butler,” said Dilan, increasingly annoyed. “If you want something, you’ll have to get it yourself. Keeping the larder stocked is a shared responsibility.”

Muttering under his breath, Even made as if to scrawl his requests onto the bottom half of the chalkboard hanging on the side of the refrigerator, but was confronted with the fact that the menu board was no longer there. He stared at the spot, scowling.

“Is anyone planning on going into town today?” he asked aloud.

“I don’t know. Ask the others.”

A grumpy Even left carrying the block of cheese and a banana.

They hit a few more bumps over the next couple of days—the chore schedule had to be completely renegotiated, and there was a spat about dishes—but the castle still settled relatively quickly into life without their erstwhile houseguest. Or at least, they would have settled in, if Radiant Garden hadn’t had other plans. With all the excitement going on in town, they were roped into committee business increasingly often, and no one doubted that Ama had something to do with it, even if it was just by misguidedly bragging on them to everyone else.

Aeleus and Dilan came back from one meeting with the sobering news that everyone at the castle had been invited to the grand opening of the bar. An animated debate ensued over this that lasted well into the next day, but ultimately, Ienzo made the call to accept the invitation.

“The community is obviously very invested in this as a social event. If we’re absent, people will notice, and wonder why. We should attend, if only for a short while.”

So they reported that yes, they were all going to the grand opening celebration, and yes, of course they would bring something for the potluck. The latter responsibility fell on Dilan despite his protests, and he spent an entire afternoon angrily making fruit pies. To his credit, they turned out excellently, or so the others reported after demolishing the sacrificial one he set aside for them. (This had been a practical decision, not a generous one; if he hadn’t done it, all the pies would have mysteriously had slices vanish out of them overnight.) Even the reclusive Ansem gave his pie sample a vote of approval.

“Your favorite was blackcurrant, I think,” Dilan said to him offhandedly, digging through a kitchen cupboard, “but they’re not in season.”

“Was it really?”

Ansem poked at his half-eaten slice of apple pie with his fork.

“I wish I could  _ remember _ these things,” he sighed. “It’s so terribly frustrating…”

“You’ve less to regret than you might think.” Dilan sorted through a shelf of glass jars, looking for one that was the right size. “Everyone else in this miserable town has to live with the pain of the past. I’m sure not a few of them would rather be in your position.”

“Is that how you feel, then?”

“My feelings don’t enter into it.” He almost spat the word, forcefully closing the cupboard. “What’s done is done, and there’s no changing it. Best to press on and not look back.”

“But what is it that we’re pressing on towards?”

This was a very good question to which Dilan had no answer. He grimaced and set an armful of jars onto the counter, catching one before it rolled away onto the floor.

Dilan didn’t like to admit it, but he was forced to after a few days—he actually missed having a second pair of hands in the kitchen. For all her constant chattering, Ama had been an efficient cook, and with two of them shouldering all the responsibility, no one else in the castle had seen much of a need to disturb the kitchen at all. Now Dilan was constantly finding things left dirty or used up or put back in the wrong place, and he even carefully re-sharpened all of his knives after convincing himself (not without evidence) that someone had used them without permission.

Ama herself stopped by every other day, but she seemed to want to give the castle residents their long-awaited space, so she usually didn’t stay longer than an hour or two, and spent a lot of time with Ansem when she did. She also seemed to worry that without her around, the others would go back to keeping Ansem “in the attic,” and she made a point of bringing him lots of little gifts to liven up his room, mostly flowers in terracotta pots. Although she kept hinting at how nice it would be if he could come to the upcoming celebration in town, the others managed to shut these suggestions down each time she made them. Helpfully, Ansem himself didn’t want to go.

“I appreciate the thought,” he admitted in his room, unscrewing the back of a computer case, “but I don’t think I’d like so much commotion.”

“Well...all right.” She winced when she accidentally stepped onto something plastic that crunched beneath her heel. “But you know you can always change your mind.”

Down in town, she had finished setting up her new abode in all of one day, since it was so small that there was hardly anywhere to put anything to begin with, and decorating was thus a non-issue. Her garden took much more work to get to a satisfactory state, but she and Aerith managed to knock most of it out in one long, sweaty day. From then on she spent every morning weeding and planting, laying in carrots and cucumbers and perilla next to rows of transplanted herbs, Leona the chicken supervising in case of any bugs being discovered in the upturned soil.

Leona did not appreciate the move back into town after having had the entire castle grounds to herself. Ama tried to put her in the communal coop with all the other chickens, but after she managed to escape twice and nearly pecked one of the roosters’ eyes out, Ama brought her home and let her camp in the back garden instead. The garden had not, however, been designed to keep chickens in, and Leona soon figured out how to hop the low fence and go patrol the rest of the street. She developed a habit of sitting in the sun on a post halfway up the street, fluffing herself and glaring at whoever dared to walk too close to her perch.

Leona’s indignation aside, it was much more convenient for Ama to be living right down in the middle of town, not least because she was finally able to start repaying everyone who had invited her over for coffee or a game of cards for the past couple of weeks. If she were at home and not gardening her door was always open, and in the evenings she could often be found sitting at a rickety fold-out table in front of the house, drinking barley tea and playing mahjong with Aerith, Merlin, and Merlin’s owl Archimedes (who could talk, and played his own side of the game with aplomb, though he sometimes needed help handling the tiles). Ama was also constantly telling stories about life back home on the islands, and any visitor who showed interest wound up imprisoned by her for a minimum of twenty minutes, leafing through saltwater-stained photo albums where Sora, Riku, and Kairi grew taller on every page.

As opening night approached, however, distractions like mahjong happened less frequently; the committee was swamped with last-minute preparations. The actual construction of the bar was complete, and it only remained cordoned off and swathed in tarp to maintain an air of mystery while all the finishing touches were placed inside. While the rest of the town could relax now that all the construction was done, the card-carrying members of the Restoration Committee increasingly spent all their time inside the boarded-up bar-to-be, painting, sanding, waxing, scrubbing, dusting, and polishing. Somehow the list of tasks never seemed to get much shorter.

“Can’t we take a break?” Yuffie groaned one night, leaning on her mop. Above her, Mog fluttered to and fro carrying a soapy sponge, washing the windows. “We’ve been at it for hours. Isn’t this place close to being ready?”

Tifa was setting out and repositioning all of the taproom’s tables. Not only did she not need any help doing it, but she could carry the smaller tables over her head with only one hand. Leon followed behind her as she worked, hanging the right number of chairs upside-down over the side of each size of table after she put it in its place. Ama was stuffing napkins into holders and taking inventory at the bar, while behind it, Aerith stacked row upon row of pint glasses into place on the shelves.

“It’s definitely getting there.” Tifa carefully heaved a table off of her shoulder, setting it down and straightening it out. “But everyone’s looking forward to Friday so much, we can’t exactly do things halfway. Otherwise it’ll be a disappointment.”

Yuffie sighed and heaved the mop back onto the floor with a wet  _ splat. _

“I know, I know.” She grudgingly pushed it along. “But seriously—this party had better be  _ super _ worth it.”

* * *

Two days before the bar was scheduled to open, there was a major Heartless attack. No one was killed, thankfully, but half a dozen people were injured, and for the rest of the day Cid camped out in the computer lab at the castle, working on the Claymore security system with the rest of the committee coming and going.

The apprentices didn’t appreciate the intrusion, but they could hardly object to it, since the town’s defense system benefitted them as much as anyone else. Still, it was rather nerve-wracking to have people around now that Ansem was on the loose. At one point Ansem was almost spotted by Leon coming down the other end of the hallway, and Even nearly had to shove him into a closet.

“Are you sure this will be good enough?” Leon asked Cid in the computer lab as Cid pecked away at the keyboard. Cid grunted and rolled his toothpick to the other side of his mouth.

“Reckon this oughta do it, yeah. But let’s let her run this for a while and see how she holds up after a reboot.”

He addressed Ienzo over his shoulder, who was casually observing in case he could be of any help. (Which was to say that he was supervising their use of the facilities, without wanting to seem like he was doing so.)

“Have you all been messin’ with the system?” Cid asked him.

“We try not to.” Ienzo moved up to join them at the terminal. “Why do you ask?”

“‘Cause there’s all kinda new programs floatin’ around in here.” Cid shuffled files around, reorganizing them. “Not fancy or nothin’, but I haven’t seen ‘em before. See, here’s a chess game...Somebody put that on here recently.”

“None of it is a problem, I hope?” Ienzo asked, knowing full well who was responsible, and making a mental note to do something about it if needed.

“A problem? Nah. Long as you all don’t touch any of the important stuff—an’ all that’s walled off nice and secure.” Cid tapped the keyboard, not pushing any keys but hitting it with the side of his fist. “Hey Tron, how’s that update comin’?”

“Still processing,” Tron reported. “Estimated time remaining is approximately—”

“Y’don’t gotta calculate it. Just holler at us when it’s done.”

Cid pushed his wheeled stool back from the terminal and swiveled around to face the other two.

“Best we can do,” he said to Leon, hands on his knees, “unless that wizard wants to get up here and add a little extra somethin’. Everything’s lookin’ good on the front end, though.”

“Good isn’t good enough. The party is tomorrow. If another Heartless that size comes through town when everybody’s gathered in one place...”

“...then I guess we’ll all be right there to take care of it.” Cid ejected a CD from the terminal. “I ain’t exactly an optimist, Squall, but even I think you’ve been startin’ to worry too much here lately.”

“It’s Leon.”

Cid made no acknowledgement of his error, chewing on his toothpick.

“I’m tellin’ you, this is the best we can do on short notice. System just doesn’t have enough firepower to try for much else.”

Which was true. For all its usefulness, the Claymore defense system that the committee had cooked up had serious limits, even after going through many refinements since the first test run. It worked well enough that Heartless weren’t constantly a danger within the boundaries of the settlement itself; the program automatically zapped any small ones that appeared in isolation. But the system’s protection didn’t extend any further than town, and it wasn’t powerful enough to do more than stun any Heartless bigger than a Soldier—not to mention that even small Heartless could easily overwhelm the system if they spawned in groups. And large Heartless like the one from yesterday were out of the equation entirely. They shrugged off the Claymore like a biting mosquito, which left the Restoration Committee to deal with them manually, one of the their more dangerous responsibilities.

Leon folded his arms, watching the progress bar slowly fill.

“Well, then...I guess we’ll just have to work with what we’ve got,” he admitted. “If something happens tomorrow…”

“I doubt it will,” said Ienzo. “Generally, the Heartless are drawn to darkness, and to the specific emotions that kindle it. A situation where everyone is enjoying themselves won’t be especially attractive to them, even if there are a large number of people there.”

Cid and Leon nodded in acknowledgement of his authority on the subject, resuming discussion of the finer points of the Claymore’s updated targeting system.

Although Ienzo didn’t spend much time with the committee, he had so far endeavored to make it productive when he did—for his own personal definition of ‘productive,’ which meant strategically doling out the precise doses of information and misinformation needed to make the committee believe what would be most useful for them to believe. The apprentices had never really explained to the committee how they’d come to be in Radiant Garden recently, or what their positions here had been before its destruction, but Ienzo had insinuated just enough here and there (seemingly offhandedly, but actually premeditated each time) to imply that they might have been victims of the previous situation at the castle (instead of, as in actuality, the perpetrators). Like all the most convincing lies, there was a very tiny kernel of truth to it, but how true it was or wasn’t didn’t actually matter. All that mattered was whether it was believable enough to stave off prying questions and explain why they knew some of the things that they did—technicalities about the behavior of the Heartless, for example.

So far it had worked. And as far as Ienzo was concerned, this cover story was particularly successful because he had accomplished it solely through insinuation and polite deflection, rather than sitting down and telling a fabricated tale that could fall apart if scrutinized. Not that there seemed to be all that much chance of that happening—most of the people who knew the truth at this point were Xehanort—but it was better to be overly cautious than otherwise. And Ienzo didn’t trust any of the other three to be able to pull off such a charade with anything like his own sophistication.

Leon and Cid came to an agreement, and Cid stuck the CD he’d ejected into his waistband, crunching his toothpick. He kicked the floor to wheel his stool sideways, the better to look past the wall of monitors and through the glass at the cavernous old power supply system that had been converted into the artificial Heartless manufactory over a decade ago. Even without the vast space being lit, one could just make out the rows of hundreds of vats stretching away to the ground far below, each sitting dark and empty instead of housing individual power crystals, as they had been designed to do when it was first built.

“There’s no gettin’ around it,” Cid decided. “We’re always gonna be havin’ Heartless runnin’ around here unless we rebuild the Claymore from scratch—with a whole lot more  _ oomph _ behind it. No way to get any more juice outta the system we got now.”

“We might have to,” said Leon, “if the Heartless get any stronger. We’ve had more attacks this month than the last three put together.”

“You don’t have to tell me.” Cid cracked his knuckles, still looking out at the manufactory, and added, “Y’know, it really grinds my gears havin’ this whole setup just sittin’ up here. Gives me the heebie-jeebies, even when it ain’t kickin’ itself online. After that stunt the MCP pulled, I wish we had a way to pull the plug on the whole damn thing.” He looked over at Ienzo. “Any of you guys here know a way to do that? ‘Cause we can’t figure it out.”

“No, we don’t. But we can certainly look into it.”

The three of them contemplated the dark, silent manufactory beyond the glass.

“Y’know what else I’ve been thinkin’,” said Cid slowly. “This whole place here...It used to be one of the old power supply systems, right? If we messed with it enough, maybe we could turn it back into somethin’ like that...use it to beef up the Claymore without pullin’ power away from the town. Grid’s already fritzy enough as it is.” To Ienzo, he added, “What do you think, kid? You guys know this castle better’n we do.”

The faintest hint of displeasure flickered through Ienzo’s eyes at the term, but neither Cid nor Leon detected it. He smoothed down his cravat and then held a hand to his chin, thinking.

“I suppose that’s possible, but it would be difficult. This system is obsolete—it was out of commission for decades before being repurposed. I don’t know whether it could be retrofitted to generate energy, but if so, it would take a great deal of work. And the final results might not even be efficient enough to make it worthwhile.”

“You’d need a whole team of engineers,” Cid mused, scratching his chin, “and at least a year, I bet. Still...if I just had me a few more guys…”

“We don’t,” Leon reminded him. “We’ll have to make do with what we already have. That’s why we need to make sure the defense program is as solid as we can get it. We don’t exactly have the luxury of being able to start all over.”

“But if we did,” Cid said, his engineer’s imagination kicking into gear, “we could finally give those stinkin’ Heartless a good run for their money. Build somethin’ so powerful it could blow a Behemoth to smithereens in one shot. Nobody’d have to fight the Heartless hand-to-hand ever again.”

“What sort of weaponry would that entail?” Ienzo asked, thinking it through himself. Cid shrugged.

“No way to know without testin’ some prototypes. Some kinda laser system, I reckon. We could install it up here on the castle somewhere...”

“Maybe someday,” said Leon. “But that’s a little over-budget right now. Besides, something like that might make this place even harder to advertise.”

“Like it ain’t already? Hah. No one wants to move here thinkin’ they might get their heart chewed out by a Heartless while they’re out buyin’ groceries.”

“Yeah, well. I also don’t think anyone would want to move here if they thought they might get their head blown off by a laser.”

Leon put a hand through his hair, staring at his own reflection in the dark glass. 

“Let’s just try and get through tomorrow night,” he sighed. “As long as the party goes okay, we can take it one day at a time after that.”

The other two nodded their agreement. A series of  _ beeps  _ issued from the computer terminal as Tron announced the new installation was ready.


	15. Chapter 15

“Gooood evening, ladies and gentlemen!”

Yuffie pushed the wooden double-doors open wider, waving at the line of people waiting outside the bar. The doors opening caused a cheer to go up all the way down the street, and Yuffie grinned wider and bent into a sweeping bow, enjoying the attention.

“Step right up and come on in!” she called. “Have a seat, have a drink! Opening night is finally here!”

More cheers from the crowd. Yuffie started funneling everyone through the doors, and although the entire town had lined up, it didn’t take long to let them all in, as there were only about a hundred people. Once the last group had been ushered inside, Yuffie walked backwards into the street, shielding her eyes with one hand to squint against the glare of the sunset and examine the front of the building.

“Mog!”

The Moogle appeared in one of the open second-story windows.

“Mog, the sign! You were supposed to turn it on right when I opened the door!”

“Couldn’t hear you,  _ kupo,”  _ Mog said, floating down to hover near her head. “Humans are so noisy in herds.”

Yuffie ruffled his pompom, making him squeak, and he flapped furiously and disappeared back through the window. After a bit, the sign on the front of the building thrummed to life, stylized red letters blazing the name 7TH HEAVEN out across the now-empty street. Yuffie beamed at it, then ducked inside, leaving one of the doors ajar behind her to make it clear stragglers would be welcome.

The inside of the bar was hardly enormous, but it was at least big enough to fit all of the townspeople, even if a third of them had to stand along the walls and between the tables instead of taking a seat. At the moment it was even more crowded than it needed to be, because many people hadn’t sat down at all, instead milling around to find their friends and admire the finished interior of the bar. It wasn’t extravagant, and in fact would have looked rather ordinary on another world, with its typical old-fashioned design of wood and stone and brick and brass. But even this modesty was by far the largest, nicest building around, and tonight every square inch had been polished until it gleamed. People could see their own faces reflected in the row of shiny taps sticking out of the kegs lined up behind the bar, and even in the beautiful hardwood bartop that ran across the head of the taproom. Stationed behind it, Tifa looked less like a bartender serving customers and more like the captain of a ship, calling out commands while pouring beer and tacking paper tabs onto the back wall, sliding tankards along the well-oiled wood to her first thirsty guests.

At the far end of the bartop, out of the way of everyone lining up to buy drinks, Scrooge McDuck and Merlin sat on stools amidst a cloud of pipe smoke, chatting over a dram of scotch (for Scrooge) and a tiny glass of sherry (for Merlin). On Merlin’s shoulder perched Archimedes the owl, blinking and yawning, looking rather put out at having had to get up so early in the evening for something so insufferably loud. Meanwhile, Leon paced about on the edges of the room, sometimes pulling Cid aside to ask him something, looking as serious and concerned as if he expected waves of Heartless to come flooding through the open windows at any minute. Yuffie finally had to drag him into the crowd by force to get him to start saying hellos.

At Tifa’s request, Aerith and Ama had stationed themselves near the entrance, greeting people, answering questions, and directing the flow of traffic. Ama was in her element.

“The potluck table is over by the dartboard—yes, hot food goes on the left—let me take that off your hands, that looks heavy. Cookies? All right, I’ll put them over on this side, there we go—I’m sorry, what did you say? Oh! You know, I could swear I just saw him—maybe he’s in line at the bar—head along that way and you should be able to spot him. Hello there! Looking for something?”

No one wasted any time getting down to the business of enjoying themselves. The bar was soon as bustling as if it had been there for years, and it was a good half an hour before anyone on the committee caught a breather. Aerith went to go help Yuffie wash glasses behind the bar, and Ama helped clear empty dishes away from the potluck area, nearly getting hit with stray darts in the process. In the middle of one of her back-and-forth trips, she noticed a few familiar faces that she hadn’t seen yet, and once she’d finished clearing dishes, she made her way through the crowd.

The four apprentices had claimed one of the tables by the back wall, as if trying not to be conspicuous. It only half-worked. Dilan and Aeleus couldn’t help but be noticeable, tall and impressive-looking as they were in their royal guard uniforms that had been ironed to a crisp. Ienzo also looked well-put together, in his own more academic way. But whatever Even was wearing was obscured by the lab coat that he had refused to take off for the occasion. He did at least seem to have put on a slightly fancier cravat.

Ama had to thread her way between scraping chairs and knots of laughing people to reach their table.

“I didn’t see you boys sneak in! I’m glad you all made it.”

“We aren’t staying long,” said Even. A couple of passerby knocked into his elbow as they squeezed past, and he tucked his arm in, scowling.

“Oh, Even, have a little fun. Tonight’s the big night, after all. Do any of you want anything to drink? The Gullwings are taking orders, so just flag one of them down when you see them...I suppose Mr. Ansem still didn’t want to come? Poor man. You’ll all take him a drink back, won’t you?”

She waved across the room, and a brightly-dressed little blonde fairy came fluttering over the heads of the crowd, diving down to hover at the apprentices’ table.

“Welcome to 7th Heaven, loyal customers!” said the fairy. “What can I get you to drink this evening?”

She clicked her tiny pen, holding an equally tiny notepad at the ready as she waited.

“Who are you?” Even asked.

“Name’s Rikku!” The fairy struck a pose. “The one  _ and _ only! So what’ll it be, huh? Ooh—how about a round of our lovely Lindblum lager? Give it a try, it’s tonight’s runaway hit!”

“You’re a...waitress?”

“Yup! Serving up smiles. And remember, everybody—waitresses take tips!” She winked at them all. “Munny, gold, jewels...any kind of treasure you got, just leave it on the table. Now let’s get you started!” She scribbled onto her notepad. “Four Golden Mists, comin’ right up!”

“We didn’t order anything,” Even tried, but the fairy had already flitted away over the heads of the jostling crowd. Soon she returned with two other fairies, the trio carrying four full pint glasses between them that they set on the table before scattering to take other orders throughout the room.

“I’ll be back,” said Ama, pinning her hat onto her head so that another person brushing past her didn’t knock it off. “It looks like Tifa really needs a hand down there—but I do have something to give all of you, remind me to bring it back here when I have a spare moment—”

She squeezed into the crowd, disappearing with her usual speed. Even leered at his beer and poked it suspiciously.

“I’m not paying for this,” he said. “I don’t care for alcohol in the slightest.”

“And when was the last time you tried it?” Ienzo asked him. “Not since before the Organization, surely. Perhaps your tastes have changed.”

Even conceded this as a fair point and mustered up the initiative to take a cautious sip of the beer. However, it only made him pull a disgusted face.

“Vile as ever,” he declared, and pushed the glass into the center of the table. Aeleus helpfully claimed it for himself.

“Really, Even,” said Ienzo, “this  _ is _ a social function. You could make more of an effort to blend in.”

“I am making a perfectly good effort, thank you.” Even tugged his lab coat closer around himself, eyeing Ienzo’s beer with a scowl. “And what business do you have drinking, in any case? You’re a little young for that.”

Ienzo gave him a sharp look, then pointedly drained half of his glass, though he couldn’t help coughing afterwards.

“Are you alright?” Aeleus asked him.

“Yes. I’m— _ perfectly _ fine.” He stifled another cough. “Though it’s certainly an...acquired taste...”

The apprentices’ fears about being inherently suspicious were proven moot as time wore on and no one approached them to say more than the usual pleasantries (though a couple of people did recognize Aeleus and Dilan’s uniforms, and commented on how nice it was to see those colors again). But it seemed that of the few people here who remembered the old city, no one had reason to be wary of them. Radiant Garden was too busy playing as hard as it usually worked. 

The bar became a swirling sea of laughter and drink, with people as its ever-shifting clusters of islands—gossiping, telling jokes, playing cards and darts and dominoes, swapping recipes, singing, some even kissing if they’d had more to drink than others, and here and there a yelp when one of the Gullwings flying overhead accidentally spilled beer onto someone’s head. Anyone watching the jubilant crowd would have had a hard time guessing that this wasn’t the usual state of things, and that these people hadn’t had anything to celebrate in a very long time.

It was an hour before it happened, and no one knew who started it, but eventually the skulking Leon was forced to give a speech. Every time he had stopped at a table to give his regards, someone pushed a drink on him and slapped him on the back, and by the time he found himself near the front of the room, the first row of tables was clamoring for him to say a few words for the occasion. It didn’t take long for the whole crowd to pick up the chant, rattling the light fixtures.

_ “Speech! Speech! Speech!” _

A giggly Yuffie (who had clearly been sneaking samples out of the taps) made as if to climb up onto the bartop to oblige, but she only got halfway onto the bar before Tifa caught her and hauled her back down. Leon looked suddenly uncomfortable as Aerith steered him into the center of the bar and planted him squarely in front of the excited crowd. Off to the side, Merlin waved his wand, and Leon was levitated into the air and deposited gently onto the bartop, his clothes sparkling with residual magic. He started when Yuna flitted up and thrust a foaming tankard into his hand.

Clearly unprepared, Leon scanned the raucous crowd as if trying to find an escape route, and seeing none, took a careful swig of beer to buy time. The crowd quieted as he drank, but then resumed chanting when he didn’t start talking soon enough, and he had to signal to them to pipe down before he spoke.

“Everybody, this is Leon,” he announced, his tone a bit stiff despite all the alcohol he’d had. “How’s everyone doing?”

Loud cheers. Everyone had been drinking for over an hour already, so spirits were high. Someone yelled  _ “Three cheers for Squall Leonhart!”,  _ and the crowd obliged; someone else yelled  _ “Let’s hear it for the Restoration Committee!”  _ and everyone cheered that too. Leon had to wait for the crowd to compose itself before he could stumble on, but their enthusiasm did seem to have encouraged him.

“Everyone here tonight deserves this,” he said loudly. “All of you have worked hard to make this happen. Not just this bar, or this street, but this whole town. We’ve made a lot of progress these past few months.”

The audience congratulated itself with more cheering. Leon took another, longer drink.

“We’ve all been working hard,” he said, “and there’s a lot more left to do. But Radiant Garden looks better and better every day. I bet that in a year or two, no one is going to even recognize this place. What do you think?”

Whoops and applause. Leon finished his mug of beer, earning a laugh from the crowd, and wiped foam from his mouth onto the back of his glove.

“It may be tough work, and sometimes things don’t go according to plan. Well...maybe for us, a lot of the time they don’t.” Scattered laughter. “But in the end, all the blood, sweat, and tears that we’re putting into this place are worth it. Tonight is proof of that. But—I didn’t always think that way.”

Until the last sentence, this had seemed like the end of what Leon had to say, and the crowd wasn’t sure how to react. The handful of cheers that had automatically gone up died down when Leon raised his empty glass, and one of the fairies swapped it out for a full one, even as Tifa and Aerith exchanged concerned looks. Aerith stationed herself in front of Leon and Tifa directly behind, so that if he stumbled and fell off the bar, one of them could catch him.

“For a long time,” said Leon, staring not out at the crowd but at the bubbles in the mug of beer he held in front of him, “I thought the opposite. Growing up in Traverse Town, after what happened, I thought...As long as you don’t get your hopes up in life, you can take anything. You feel less pain if you never expect anything good to come out of what you do.”

A few people tried to halfheartedly cheer this, but most sat murmuring to their neighbors, perplexed by the sudden turn Leon’s speech had taken.

“But I was lying to myself back then,” he said. “No matter how much pain I felt, the truth is...I always dreamed about coming back here.”

He gazed out at the faces of the crowd, blurred by a slight haze from smokers’ pipes and the aura of the bare lights.

“We’re all here tonight because we’ve lost something. A lot of other people who lost their worlds have gotten to go home again, thanks to all the heroes out there who are fighting the darkness. But all of us here can’t ever go back to the lives that we remember. Whether those lives were in Radiant Garden, or somewhere else...All of that is gone.”

He paused, then took a solemn drink, and the whole room copied him. The clink of dozens of glasses was like a moment of silence for all the hearts—of worlds and of people—that the darkness had claimed forever.

“We can’t go back to the old Radiant Garden,” he said again. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t go home. We’ve reclaimed this place, and we’re not just going to scrape by and dream about all the things that used to be here. All of us are going to make this town something to be proud of...something special. Something...even better than what it was before...”

He wobbled. Tifa and Aerith both lunged for his legs, grabbing him to keep him steady, and the front row of tables laughed. After recovering, Leon handed his half-finished beer to Paine and looked around the room nervously, clearly having exhausted his unprepared and heavily buzzed brain’s speech-giving capabilities.

“Well...um.” He paused. “Yeah. Thank all of you for coming. Let’s have fun tonight, okay?”

The crowd forgave this awkward ending, applauding and cheering so profusely that Leon tried to give a short, clumsy bow. The attempt nearly made him lose his balance and pitch forward. He was saved by more of Merlin’s magic that deposited him safely back onto the ground.

“That was pretty corny, even for you, Leon,” said Yuffie, poking him. Leon slumped onto a barstool, holding his head in one hand, as if he were getting dizzy.

“You can give the speech next time, then.”

“Why wait for next time?”

But Tifa again caught the back of Yuffie’s shirt before she could scramble up onto the bartop.

“Oh, no you don’t. You and I have glasses to wash.”

“Tifaaa…”

“You’re the one who volunteered.”

“Oh, come now!” said a voice, and they looked to see Merlin leaning so far towards them that he looked in danger of slipping off his stool, his sherry glass empty and overturned. “Washing dishes during a celebration like this! Pish-posh. Positively medieval. And I would know!”

“They aren’t gonna clean themselves,” said Tifa.

“They will if they know what’s good for them.” Merlin stuck a hand into his long beard, rummaging, and pulled out a teabag and a few paperclips before finding his wand. He reached forward and waved it over the sink behind the bar.  _ “Higitus figitus migitus mum!” _

Soapy water flew everywhere behind the bar as the glasses and cleaning equipment sprang to life, forming an assembly line. One of the shot glasses leaped to the stone floor and tried to skitter away, but Yuffie pounced on it as if catching a frog, dumping it back into the sink, where it fell in line with the rest.

“Much better!” Merlin said. “And I say, Tifa, dear—you wouldn’t happen to have more of that sherry, would you? A fine vintage, very fine. Scrooge tells me it came all the way from Andalusia…or was it Andalasia…”

Before Yuffie disappeared, she swiped one of the cleaned glasses from the magical assembly line and filled it with a thick dark beer behind Tifa’s back.

At the other end of the room, the apprentices had kept to themselves at their table, and Leon’s speech had been sobering enough to make them all look at each other during it, not participating in any of the cheering, though they had at least done the toast along with the rest of the room. Now they all sat brooding over their drinks.

“I suppose their optimism is admirable,” said Even, nursing a glass of water. He tapped the rim, making ice chips appear in it. “But really, I don’t know how they can expect to return this place to anything like its former state—much less overshoot that mark. Between the Heartless and the physical destruction, they’ll be lucky if they can simply make the area liveable.”

“They’re making progress,” Aeleus said.

“Progress, yes, but only slowly. It will be an uphill battle for who knows how many years.”

“Obviously,” said Ienzo. “But in any case, I should think it would be much more of a challenge to try to—”

“Hey there, cutie! How long have  _ you _ been hiding back here, huh?”

Ienzo started as Yuffie sprang up at his elbow, nearly causing him to knock over his drink. She’d appeared from the surrounding crowd as suddenly as if she’d been crawling under the tables. 

“Nice to see you out of the castle for once. How come you never come hang out in town, huh?”

“I’m sorry?” Ienzo asked. “Are you talking to me?”

“Who do you think I’m talking to?” Yuffie grinned. “Come over and meet everybody, why don’t you? You can’t just sneak around and keep to yourself all the time. It’s not like there’s a ton of young people around here.”

“And—who are you, exactly?”

“Come on, don’t you remember from that last meeting? I’m the great ninja Yuffie!” She tossed her head and flicked her bangs. “And you’re Ienzo! Right? The adopted guy.”

“I am not ad—Where did you hear that?”

“Can I borrow him?” Yuffie asked the rest of the table, then laughed at her own joke. “Wait, who am I kidding? Ninjas don’t ask. They just steal things!”

And grabbing Ienzo’s wrist, she laughingly yanked him out of his seat, so quickly that he didn’t have time to resist and was hauled away into the crowd. His unfinished drink was left on the table, still sloshing.

“Are you going to go after him?” Dilan asked Aeleus. Aeleus sipped his beer.

“No. He needs to get out more.”

The three remaining apprentices talked for a while, but once a good fifteen minutes had gone by with no sign of Ienzo’s return, Aeleus finished his pint and went to see if perhaps he needed to be rescued from something, easily parting the crowd. Soon Even also wandered off, seeking something non-alcoholic to drink that had more flavor than plain water. Dilan was left alone at the table, guarding his third beer and glowering at anyone who greeted him in passing. He stared down into the bottom of his pint.

Not bad stuff, though the style wasn’t really to his taste. When was the last time he’d sat and had a drink in a bar, anyway? Never as Xaldin, obviously. No wonder it felt so ridiculous. The last time he’d done something as normal as this had to have been over a decade ago, as a young man. He grimaced and took a long swig.

Really, this whole evening was blasphemous. All these people sitting around laughing and being happy _ ,  _ somehow, despite everything going on around them. What did they have to be excited about? Their lives were constant toil, and the Heartless weren’t going away anytime soon. Maybe there was some excuse for all the people who had only moved here recently, but for those who remembered what Radiant Garden had once been...

Something to be proud of, something even better than it was before. In what wildly deluded corner of their hearts had they managed to preserve that kind of hope?

The alcohol had lowered Dilan’s inhibitions enough that he groaned aloud when Ama fell into the seat next to him.

“What have you done with everyone, Dilan? I came to give you all your present and no one’s here.”

“I don’t know where anyone else is,” he said, suddenly wishing his beer was something stronger. “Off enjoying themselves, I expect.”

Ama set a bag onto the floor that clattered loudly and pulled out a stoppered glass bottle, one of a dozen that the bag held.

“Well—I was wanting to hand all this over to all of you sometime this evening, before I forgot. I started making it before I moved out, to thank you all for letting me stay at the castle, but it wasn’t ready until the other day. I’m sorry that my going-away gift is a bit late.”

All the bottles were filled with a milky liquid. Dilan held the one she’d retrieved up the light, frowning.

“And what might this be?” he asked suspiciously.

“Rice wine.”

“Rice wine? You made it yourself?”

It certainly smelled alcoholic once she shook the bottle and opened it. She hummed and poured it into a couple of little copper cups, and Dilan was just curious enough to try it. Surprisingly, it wasn’t bad.

“You islanders are a resourceful bunch,” he remarked, “if you brew your own alcohol as a matter of course.”

“Well, I suppose we have to be.” She topped up her cup, filling it to the brim, since it could only hold a few ounces. “Heavens, it feels so good to sit down, I’ve been on my feet all night. Do you mind if I stay here for a bit?”

“As long as you don’t talk.”

She laughed, settling in and sipping her cup of rice wine, interestedly watching the commotion from the sidelines instead of being in the thick of it. Over by the dartboard, Even was having an animated discussion with Archimedes, while a few tables away, Aeleus (who was so tall that he was easy to spot even while sitting down) had somehow gotten locked into an arm-wrestling match with Tifa. She was losing, but putting up a terrific fight for being only half his size. Ienzo and Yuffie hovered on the sidelines, Yuffie cheering for Tifa and Ienzo smiling and laughing in an uncharacteristically open, happy way that showed he’d already had another drink or two.

Dilan had absolutely no faith that Ama would keep quiet for long, but she managed it for longer than he expected. It was four, possibly even five minutes before she spoke up.

“I’ve scored a point, you know,” she said. “You  _ did _ wind up at a party.”

She gently elbowed him. It took him some thought to realize what she was referring to, but when he did, he buried himself in his pint, grumbling.

“Don’t start with that nonsense.” The glass made his voice slightly echoey. “Why in blazes do you take such a perverse interest in my social life?”

“Because you’re so terribly determined to make yourself unhappy. I’ve never seen anything like it.” She finished her cup of rice wine and poured a bit more, then noticed he had drunk all of his sample and gave him a full serving, too. As she poured, she asked, “Aren’t you having any fun tonight? It isn’t so bad being out with people, is it?”

“Make myself unhappy?” Dilan repeated. “Hmph. Say rather that I’m not fool enough to go chasing happiness after all I’ve seen and done. If other people want to ruin themselves in the attempt, it’s no concern of mine.”

“But that’s not true, is it? You always say things like that, but then if anybody around you breathes one word about being happy, you start making all these grouchy noises. It bothers you.”

“I do not make grouchy noises.”

“You’re doing it right now.”

Dilan caught his own growl in the back of his throat, then grimaced and took a long swig of beer.

“If you call being sensible ‘grouchy,’ then I suppose I’ll wear the label. Proudly, at that.”

“Sensible? Oh, hardly. If anything, you’re a bit over-dramatic.”

“What makes you say so?”

Ama put down her drink, concentrating hard, and then said (in a falsely deep and stern voice, while trying to imitate his accent),  _ “‘Love is a delusion believed only by starry-eyed fools.’” _

Her attempt at the accent was so bad that Dilan couldn’t help but laugh.

“You see how it sounds to all the rest of us?” Ama said, smiling. “I mean, really. Very dramatic of you.”

“Well, dramatic or no, I’ll stand by that sentiment. To hold something dear is to let it hold you. And furthermore,” he set his glass down onto the table a bit harder than he intended to, like a judge bringing the gavel down after a decision, “love never lasts.”

He waited for her to retort with something vapidly optimistic, but to his surprise she didn’t, instead taking this in and thoughtfully watching the rest of the party as she continued to sip at her wine. Tifa and Aeleus’s contest seemed to have ended, since Tifa was back behind the bar, passing a tray of mixed drinks up to the waiting Gullwings, who began carefully maneuvering it to where a group headed by Scrooge had pushed four or five of the small round tables together into a larger circle.

“You aren’t going to argue with me?” Dilan asked her. Ama shrugged.

“What’s there to argue about? You’re perfectly right. Love never lasts.”

He frowned, trying to work out whether she was being sarcastic. She didn’t look it, and besides, sarcasm wasn’t really in her repertoire.

“I’m surprised you agree,” he said cautiously, “with how brazenly sociable you are.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’d phrase it exactly the way you did. But, still...”

She finished her cup and poured herself more. The cups were quite small, and the rice wine wasn’t any stronger than ordinary wine, so it was taking several pours to get a full glass’s worth.

“‘To hold something dear is to let it hold you,’” she echoed, and set the bottle aside with a smile. “That’s very poetic, Dilan. You have such a wonderful way with words.”

“And how would you put it, then? Since you supposedly agree.”

“How would I put it? Well, let’s see...”

She sipped her wine and gazed out across the crowded room, idly watching everyone talk and laugh and mingle under the slightly harsh light of the exposed yellow bulbs. Outside, night was coming on in earnest, and the breeze passing through the bar from the open windows had gotten cooler, carrying the scent of flowers and freshly-dug earth. The wind tugged at a napkin on the table, threatening to blow it onto the floor, but Ama pinned it down with the half-full bottle.

“I suppose I’d just say ‘love costs pain,’” she decided. “It’s not as poetic as what you said, but I think that about sums it up. When you love someone, it hurts when they go. There’s a scar left in you, as big as the love was, and getting that scar is the worst pain you can feel.”

“And what would someone like you know of it?” His tone was rather harsher than he would have let it be while completely sober. “Living on an island paradise where no one is a stranger, raising children and gossiping and—playing mahjong, and whatever else. I doubt you’ve ever known pain in your life.”

Ama laughed. It had an odd quality that Dilan noticed at once, since he had heard her laugh many times before, and it took him a second to realize what was different. Although the laugh was sincere, there was an off note in it, and when reached up and touched a knuckle to her reddened cheek there was a glint of tears in her eyes.

“You know,” she said, “when Jin was alive...”

But her voice was steady, and she wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand, smiling. No more tears appeared.

“I never imagined what it might be like if I lost him. We didn’t think like that—we were young. It was always Sora that I was worried about, once he came along. We tried so hard to have him, and some days when he was little I would just...oh, I don’t even know. Worry over nothing, really. You can’t help it as a parent. You end up thinking of all the worst things that might happen even when there’s no chance of it at all, and every time they run out the door to go play, you’re just a tiny bit scared…”

She laughed again, as if at the memory of her old self, and pushed a strand of loose hair back behind her ear.

“But I ended up losing Jin, instead. And I had never imagined that before, except for far away in the future, when we were old and had grandkids and had done everything that we wanted to do. I never thought about him being taken away before that...but he was. And it hurt more than anything ever had, because of how much I loved him.”

She took a long drink of rice wine.

“Love never lasts,” she sighed. “You’re right about that, Dilan. Whether it’s a friend or your husband or your parents or anyone else. Either you have a falling-out and it hurts, or they die and it hurts, or  _ you  _ die and pass all the pain on to them instead. Love always costs pain, sooner or later. That’s just how it is.”

“And how can you delude yourself into believing it’s worth it?”

“I don’t have to.” She finished the wine and set the empty cup onto the table amongst the foam-flecked pint glasses. “If someone did some kind of—whatever all that time travel business is that some people can do, apparently. If someone did that to me, and took me back to my wedding day, and I got to tell my younger self right there on the beach what was going to happen to Jin—I would have married him anyway.”

“Feh.”

“Oh, don’t you  _ feh  _ me.” She elbowed him. “I mean it, Dilan, I would have. Jin was a wonderful man, and I was lucky to have him for as long as I did. He was very sweet, and generous, and—and silly, but hard-working. And he cared about people so much. Sora takes after him.”

“How did he die, then?”

Ama hesitated, as if preparing to launch into one of her long-winded stories, but then said only, “He was a fisherman. There was a storm.”

She reached for the wine bottle.

“It wasn’t fair,” she admitted, refilling her cup halfway, “but life isn’t, unless you’re very lucky. But...I don’t regret being with Jin just because I lost him. Not at all. The only thing I regret is that I got more time with him than Sora did. I wish Jin could see him now. He’d be so amazed that our little boy’s gone off and done all the things he’s done.”

Her smile softened. She offered Dilan the half-empty bottle, and he grudgingly held his copper cup out to be refilled, draining it in one go as a change of pace from the last of the beer still lingering at the bottom of his other glass.

Around the bar, the general merriment and moving about had settled down into various stable groups scattered across all of the tables. Aerith and Tifa snuck out the front door together as Scrooge stood on his stool and raised his glass in front of the large group surrounding him.

“Here’s tae the heath, the hill and the heather!” he said, his accent much thicker than usual. “The bonnet, the plaid, the kilt and the feather!  _ Beannaich an taigh!” _

He downed the glass, and everyone around him followed suit in a spate of appreciative laughter. Merlin hiccuped so hard it knocked his spectacles askew.

Smiling, Ama raised her cup in their direction in passing solidarity with their toast.

“Love will always hurt in the end,” she said wistfully. “There’s no getting around that. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t worth it to begin with.”

As if a thought had struck her, she looked up at Dilan, resting her chin on her free hand and pointing at him with her drink.

“Haven’t you ever been in love, Dilan?”

“That’s no concern of yours.”

“So you have, then?”

He glared, and since he couldn’t physically scoot away with so many chairs around, moved his beer an inch further away from her in protest. Ama looked mildly incredulous at his reaction.

“It can’t have been something like that, can it? No.” She poked him with her cup, sloshing a few drops onto the sleeve of his uniform. “You’re a tall, handsome, well-spoken man who can cook. I refuse to believe there was ever a woman stupid enough to have treated you badly once upon a time. Or a man, if that’s how it was.”

“It wasn’t a—I am not having this conversation.”

“Oh, all right. Go on and keep being mysterious, then.”

Tifa and Aerith re-entered the party, forcibly escorting a young man between them, each holding one of his arms. The bright lights and happy chaos paralyzed him, and it took persuasion for him to unlatch the holster of his enormous sword and lean it against the wall next to Leon’s gunblade. He tentatively sat down at the bar. Aerith sat next to him, and Tifa poured out drinks for the three of them as Yuffie’s delighted, drunkenly-too-loud voice cut above the noise of the crowd:  _ “Cloud!  _ Where have you  _ been, _ you big  _ doofus?” _

There was only one more serving of rice wine left in the bottle. Ama poured it out for Dilan, and though he frowned at it, he couldn’t resist the offer, either. It really was quite good. Thick, but also a little fizzy.

“Do you know what I think, Dilan?” Ama said matter-of-factly, putting the empty bottle in the center of the table. “I think—” she picked up her own drink, “that sometimes, you feel like you don’t deserve to be happy, for whatever reason.”

Dilan snorted and downed his serving in one gulp.

“I’m not saying you have to fall in love to be happy, or anything like that,” Ama said. “Not everyone wants that sort of thing in the first place. But, you know...Supposing you  _ did  _ want it, and just didn’t let yourself go looking because it’s guaranteed to hurt sooner or later...Well, that’s a little sad, I think.”

“Duly noted. But you can’t expect me to agree.” He reached out for his pint glass (which still had enough dregs left in it to be useful) and was just tipsy enough to have to grab for it twice. “A taste of honey is worse than none at all.”

“Do you think so?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” Ama considered this, as if she’d never heard the saying before. Being from the middle of nowhere, perhaps she hadn’t. “Well, personally...I think even a spoonful of honey helps balance out the bottle of vinegar. After all, life’s always going to go wrong, isn’t it? We can make all the plans we like, but accidents happen and people change and nothing lasts forever. No matter how much we wish it would.”

She sighed, and Dilan noticed her unconsciously run a thumb over the base of another finger, as if feeling for a ring she no longer wore.

“It’s the worst thing in the worlds, getting your heart broken. But on the other hand...I suppose that’s why we have hearts in the first place, isn’t it?”

“If that’s true, I’d sooner go back to living without one.”

He tensed, realizing too late what he’d said, but she only laughed and pushed her messy hair out of her face. Her ponytail had loosened slightly.

“Live without one? Really, Dilan, you say the most outrageous things sometimes. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He muttered  _ ‘ridiculous woman’  _ under his breath, or thought he did, but apparently he’d been loud enough for her to hear, since she elbowed him in the ribs again. It was too gently done to hurt, but he grunted indignantly on principle, and for lack of any more satisfying revenge option he grabbed another of the bottles of rice wine from underneath the table. This didn’t actually count as stealing from her, since the wine was a gift to the castle, but it was the best he could do on impulse.

Across the bar, another toast was being given by someone else in Scrooge’s group, which Aeleus and Ienzo had joined, Ienzo leaning against Aeleus’s side. The toaster hadn’t raised their voice enough to be heard this far away over the rest of the party, but they were the center of attention regardless, and after watching them wave their drink every which way over the rapt audience, Ama picked up her own cup and invitingly held it up in front of Dilan.

“To new beginnings,” she proposed. “For this place, and everyone in it. Hm?”

His evasive grumbling made her smile.

“Too optimistic for you? All right. Then how about...”

She forced a deep scowl, furrowing her brows. Because her voice had a slight slur in it now, this attempt at mimicking him was somehow even worse than her first.

_ “To the agony of love!”  _ she said gravely, and the impression was so patently awful that Dilan couldn’t help laughing, much harder than he would have if he hadn’t been drinking. She laughed, too, her cheeks turning pink, and when she recovered she raised her empty cup once more.

“To Sora?” she tried. “You can’t say no to that, I hope.”

“If you insist.” Dilan picked up his empty pint glass. “To Sora. And...”

“And?”

“And to the infernal misery of human existence.”

Ama laughed so hard that she had to set her forehead onto her arm lying across the table.

Neither of them actually had any alcohol left, but he clinked his empty pint glass against her empty cup, and as the party continued all around them, Dilan opened the second bottle of rice wine he’d taken from out of the bag. It took a bit more concentration to do than it should have.

“You’re not opening that, are you?” Ama asked, and stifled a small hiccup with the back of her hand while Dilan poured himself a half-measure.

“You’ve no cause to complain. As I recall, you gave all of this away.”

She laughed, and he laughed too, for no particular reason other than the drink.

This whole business of her moving here out of nowhere could have gone much worse. It was over now, wasn’t it? She’d come and gone, and somehow nothing horrible had happened, and they wouldn’t have to deal with her again unless they wanted to. No more listening all to her stories about the banalities of life on the islands, or putting up with her puttering around the kitchen humming to herself, or poking her nose where it wasn’t wanted or calling him cute…Stupid...stupid thing to say. He wasn’t  _ cute _ . That was...You couldn’t just say that about people. Not unless you meant it.

He watched her laugh along with the large group at the other end of the room, her smile as warm and infectious as her son’s. If she weren’t such a cheerful, good-natured person, he thought blearily, she would almost be cute herself.

Ama rested her head on Dilan’s shoulder and raised her empty cup to him, smiling wryly, her request wordless. He sighed and poured her more rice wine, not bothering to complain.


	16. Chapter 16

The rift in space shimmered briefly and then flashed closed, leaving the metallic glider hovering above the courtyard in the deep purple twilight. The armored figure riding in front landed the glider as gently as possible, but the passenger in the back still nearly fell off, and had to slide down and land unsteadily on his feet to keep from tumbling forward, burdened as he was by the weight of the limp body in his arms.

Kairi removed her helmet as she dismounted and turned the glider back into her Keyblade. In the evening gloom, her burnished armor appeared the same color as her hair, pulled back into a short ponytail. A small gash on her cheek dribbled blood down onto her chin, and she winced and pressed the back of her hand to the cut, silently casting Cure so that it knitted closed with a slight sting.

“Hollow Bastion…”

She stared up at the silhouette of the broken-down castle outlined against the evening stars, then looked over her shoulder. Below, there were almost no lights at all. Only one building was fully lit on the far end of town, and even from this distance there was the distinct impression of noise, like dozens of loud voices all mingled together.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Lea?”

In Lea’s arms, Ventus stirred weakly and groaned, as if he were having a nightmare.

“You got any better ones? I told you, nothing’s going on out here. There’s no Nobodies, no big Heartless, nada. We can lay low until the others catch up.”

“Lay low? Are you kidding? We have to go back and keep fighting!”

“With him in tow?” The unconscious Ventus groaned again. “She told us to keep him safe, no matter what. Right? So you wanna just dump him off here and leave him alone?”

Kairi stared at Ventus’s sleeping face, and what she could see of his pained expression mirrored her own. His breathing was irregular and shallow.

“I hate running away,” she said fiercely.

“Look, I’m not happy about it either. Believe me. But C.O.’s not worth defending, and the master knows that—she’s not stupid. That’s why she bought us time to get away. Now we gotta hang tight and wait for her. Otherwise, what was the point of all that, huh?”

Kairi shook her head, turning away to gaze up at the dark facade of the castle. Ventus stirred, and Lea shifted his grip on him, trying to cradle his head more gently.

“We have to find a way to tell everyone where we went,” Kairi said. “How else will they know to come here?”

“We’ll figure that out later. First things first—we gotta pick a place to lay low. Somewhere that’s easy to defend.”

They exchanged looks in the near-darkness. Lea shrugged as well as he could manage while holding Ventus, and Kairi’s grip on her Keyblade tightened. She raised it and turned a circle, scanning for some threat or ambush from the ruined castle grounds, but nothing appeared. No glowing yellow eyes menaced them from the empty expanse of the courtyard, and no hooded figures stepped out of the darkest corners.

Cautiously, they started walking. Kairi’s armor clanked with every step.

“Did it work this time?” she asked aloud, as much to herself as to Lea. “Is he finally going to wake up?”

“Guess we’ll find out soon enough.” Lea gazed up at the castle. “C’mon, princess. Let’s go see who’s home.”

* * *

  


END OF  
PART ONE   
“The Guest”

  


UP NEXT:  
PART TWO   
“Gathering Light”


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